


Oya Manda'lor!

by Cloud__Chaser



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Din Djarin Deserves Nice Things, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Fix-It, Force-Sensitive Din Djarin, Hurt/Comfort, Jaster Mereel Lives, M/M, No Beta We Die Like Fucking Palpatine Should Have, Palps Can Go Suck An Egg, Podfic Welcome, Season 2 Left Me Wrecked Both Physically And Emotionally, Soft Din Djarin, The Haat Mandalorians Love Din Lol, Time Travel, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, adding tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 59,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloud__Chaser/pseuds/Cloud__Chaser
Summary: After giving up his child to Luke Skywalker, Din Djarin has found himself without a purpose. Filling in the gaps by completing bounties for Boba Fett, Din comes across a strange artefact that leaves him stranded in time.Who knows, maybe Din's complete lack of knowledge of the world outside of the outer rim will lead to the fall of the empire before it even begins...Warning: A loooot of swearing!
Relationships: Din Djarin & Boba Fett, Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Din Djarin & Jango Fett, Din Djarin & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Din Djarin & Paz Vizsla, Din Djarin/Jaster Mereel, Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 5098
Kudos: 2552
Collections: An Assortment of Damn Good Fics, Comedy_Gold, Favorite Rereads, My favorite Mandalorian fics





	1. Lost In Time

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's writing multiple fics at once lmaooooo. Probably not a good idea, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head so I had to write it lol. Updates are probably gonna be sporadic not gonna lie. 
> 
> And please, I'm gonna be a needy bitch and ask someone to drop me a link to a friendly Mando/Star Wars discord, all the others I've found are full of incels lol. In exchange I will write a 5000 word or less prompt for whoever drops me a good link! (Provided it's a fandom that I know lmaooo)

“No! Please! I swear I can pay more than he can! See?-Urk!”

Din’s weary sigh was nearly inaudible over the harsh hiss of the carbonite freezing unit. Running a gloved hand against the back of his helmet, Din spared the frozen human a short glance before trudging back to the cockpit of the borrowed ship. Din let himself sink into the soft-as-butter bantha leather of the pilot’s seat, tracing the streamlined controls.

The ship was on loan from Boba in exchange for retrieving a deadbeat moisture farmer that refused to pay back his debt. Boba had proven to be a better friend over the past few months than Din had had in years… Or ever, really. The newly crowned king of Tattooine had offered Din a place to stay in his palace after the Moff Gideon fiasco. After discovering Din drowning in a pool of his own tears, Boba had dragged him out of his room for the first time in weeks, giving him back his purpose by offering up bounties in exchange for Din looking after himself.

Just the memory of Boba’s deep, rough voice sent waves of warmth through Din’s chest, the comfort of being around another friendly Mandalorian being something he hadn’t felt since his _Buir_ died. Din shook his head and forcefully banished the thought from his mind. Wallowing wouldn’t do him any good now that he had a job to do. Boba was probably bored out of his mind listening to the petitions of court visitors, waiting for Din to return with his bounty and entertainment.

Mind set, Din straightened in his seat and reached for the throttle before a sharp poke in his side between the plates of his _Beskar’gam_ aborted his movements. One of Din’s hands flew to his side, gloved digits seeking out the source of his discomfort. _Dank Farrik! Did that Shabuir plant a weapon on me?_ Din snarled to himself, berating himself for his carelessness.

Din’s frantic search under his armour paused as his fingers met what felt like a strangely shaped rock. _Not a weapon then… But what is it?_ With one final yank, Din tugged the object free from his _Kute_. Sitting snugly in the palm of his hand was a roughly hewn tone octahedron with intricate symbols carved into the smooth surface of the object in a language that Din had never encountered before. _What in the-? Is this what the bounty meant by they could pay more than Boba?_

Din warily turned the object to and fro under the soft blue lighting of the cockpit. Running his fingers over the carved symbols, a sudden thought struck him. “Hey kid, does this thing look Jedi to yo-“ Din stopped short at the sight of the empty co-pilot’s seat, a sharp pang of overwhelming loss dispelling the lingering warmth left from thoughts of Boba’s friendship.

Din wrenched his eyes away from the empty space and collapsed back into his seat. At the sensation of moisture building in his eyes, Din forcefully yanked his helmet off of his head, not even close to being in the mood to clean dried salt out of the delicate circuitry in his helmet.

Din sagged back into soft leather like a puppet with its strings but, hand unconsciously tightening around the strange object. _Come on Djarin, Boba’s waiting for his bounty. Besides, the kid’s better off with the Jedi instead of you. He should be with his own kind… But still, what I wouldn’t give just to see him one more time…_

Steeling himself, Din brought his hands up to rub furiously at his face, not noticing the thin droplets of tears hitting the symbols, or the soft blue glow that gradually grew until it swallowed the Mandalorian whole.

SWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWS 

The heavy sound of blaster fire jolted Din back to awareness, hand’s instinctively shoving the artefact into his belt and sliding his helmet back on with smooth practiced motions. Rolling into a defensive crouch, Din took stock of his immediate surroundings and what weapons he had on hand. Through the visor of his helmet, Din couldn’t see more than three metres ahead of his face. Din strained his eyes as best as he could in an attempt to see through the thick dust as he silently listed off his weapons. _Blaster pistol in thigh holster, vibro-blade in boot, disruptor rifle, whistling birds, thermal detonators, various hidden blades and needles, beskar spear, Darksaber- What in the?_ Din was sure that he had left the damned thing back on Tattoine, left where it lay, discarded on the dusty ground of his room after he had thrown it at the wall in a fit of grief.

Muffled yelling sounded from Din’s left, the sounds of distress immediately drawing his attention. _No, I shouldn’t interfere without knowing the situation or where I am._ Din thought to himself, resting a hand lightly on the blaster at his hip. Just as Din was about to leave, a new pained voice joined the muffled yelling, a voice that Din couldn’t ignore.

“An _Adi'ka_ …” Din muttered under his breath, head snapping back in the direction of the commotion. Bringing a hand up to the side of his helmet, Din switched his HUD to heat vision. After his eyes adjusted to the sudden flare of light, Din’s lips twisted into an involuntary snarl under his helmet at the sight of three figures holding down one smaller form by the neck. _Demogolka…_

Din stood without thought, drawing his blaster and shooting each attacker in the head in quick succession. Din’s eyes widened at the distinctive ring of baster fire bouncing off of beskar. _Dar’Manda deogolka! Children are the future!_ Quickly holstering his blaster, Din drew retrieved his spear from its place at his back, prowling soundlessly towards the three recovering attackers. Din kept an eye on the panting _adiik_ a as they scrambled away from the group, clutching at their neck.

Moving swiftly before the three demogolka could fully recover, Din brought his spear around in a graceful arc, swiping the first attacker’s legs out from underneath them and finishing them off with a single blow to the chest between the tiny gap between their chest plates. Moving from one attacker to the next, Din caught their hastily drawn blaster with the butt of his spear, sending it skidding over the dusty ground before driving the head through the back of their knee, the attacker crumpling to the floor with an agonised scream that was quickly silenced by Din slamming his boot into their visor so hard that their helmet left a visible indent in the cracked ground.

At the distinctive sound of a jet pack above him, Din quickly clocked the same coloured black and blue armour as the three hut’uun Dar’Manda and hurled his spear into their chest before they could get a shot off, sending them crashing to the ground. Turning to the last attacker, Din drove the heel of his palm into their throat, cutting off their cry for reinforcements and sending them to the ground with a wet wheeze. Before they could reach for their weapon, Din wrapped his arm around their neck, jerking them to his side before twisting with all his strength until he heard a sick _crack_ and the body in his arms went limp. 

Letting the limp body in his arms slide gracelessly to the ground, Din turned back to the coughing _Ad'ika_ , raising his hands palms up in the air in an effort to soothe them, taking note of their defensive crouch and silver and blue beskar’gam. _Good form…_

“Are you alright, Ad'ika?” Din’s raspy voice crackled through his vocoder.

The Ad'ika’s visor tilted down, looking at his unpainted armour before the tension slowly drained from their body.

“You aren’t Death Watch.” A slightly hoarse voice echoed through the space between Din and the Adi'ka- male- if Din’s ears weren’t deceiving him, and couldn’t be older than sixteen. But it was strangely familiar…

Din inclined his head, keeping his hands raised. “I am not. Now what’s your name Ad'ika? Where’s your Buir?”

The Ad dropped their hands from their defensive position their chest and drew up to their full height Their head coming to just below Din’s nose. “My name is J-“

“Jango!”

A booming cry split the air accompanied by the high whine of numerous jet packs before seven Mandalorians appeared from the dust, their brightly painted armour immediately setting them apart from the fallen Dar’Manda at Din’s feet. Each Mandalorian had a blaster pointed at the small gaps in Din’s armour, on high alert.

Din’s shoulders crept up to his ears at the group’s focused hostility. Now that the Ad'ika was safe, as soon as he saw his chance, Din would escape far away from this new hostile, and judging from their stances, highly trained group and somehow formulate a plan to get back to Tattoine. Back to Boba.

The _Ad_ \- Jango, turned on his heel and sprinted towards what looked to be the group’s leader, waving his hands in the air. “ _Buir_ ! Stop! He helped me! Look!” Jango yelled, gesturing wildly at the fallen forms of the _demogolka_ littering the ground.

As soon as the groups’ visors were turned away from him, Din darted to the side, yanking his spear out of the fallen Dar’Manda and took to the skies as fast as he could, not hearing the leader’s frantic shouts to wait over the whine of his jet pack.

SWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSW 

_“Jas’Buir_! Look at what you’ve done now, you’ve scared him off!”

Jaster’s eyes left the retreating back of the stranger that had saved his son at the sound of Jango’s indignant shout. “Did he kill all of these Death Watch by himself?” Jaster asked his son incredulously, eyes flicking between the downed forms of the Death Watch operatives in shocked awe.

“There’s no carbon scoring around the wounds Manda’lor, he couldn’t have used a blaster to kill them.” Myles interjected from where he was knelt by one of the corpses. “Who ever did this must have been incredibly skilled, none of them have any defensive wounds…”

Jango sighed and pressed a hand to his visor. “He didn’t. He used a beskar spear. And I would have been able to tell you that if you hadn’t scared him off _Buir_ ! How am I supposed to repay my life debt if I can’t find him _Jas’Buir_ ? I’ve never seen him before so he can’t have been one of us, but he’s not Death Watch either, and he’s definitely not a New Mandalorian. who is he _Buir_?”

Jaster felt his brows rise involuntarily under his helmet. “A spear?” He muttered to himself, voice too soft to be picked up by his vocoder. Who was this Mando’ad? Jaster’s eyes scanned the fallen bodies of the fallen Death Watch once again, killed in defence of his _Ad. Mandokarla…_

Mind set, Jaster turned back to his comrades, who were still gawking at the fallen death watch and whispering to each other in admiration. “We need to find whoever did this. Jango and I owe him a life debt.” Jaster used his HUD to check the time. “Myles, put together four teams to track him down as fast as possible, the sun’s going down and the striga will be on the prowl. The land here is too hostile for anyone to live here permanently, so he’s most likely hiding out in a cave or outcropping. When you find him, do not engage, comm me and Jango first so that we can declare our life debt.”

Myles snapped to attention with a loud “Yes, Manda’lor!”, and signalled to his fellow _Mando’ade_ to follow him before taking to the skies in the direction of their base camp.

Once Myles and the others were out of sight, Jaster turned to his Ad and set his hands down on his shoulders. “Come on Jan’ika, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Jango’s visor remained fixed on the horizon in the direction where the strange Mandalorian had fled. “ _Buir_ , he probably doesn’t have any supplies out here.”

Jaster sighed lightly through his nose. “Chin up Jan’ika, this Mando’ade, whoever he is, can take care of himself.” Jaster gestured widely to the fallen Death Watch. “I’m sure he’ll be fine, then we can repay our life debt.” Jaster shrugged, a lopsided grin growing beneath his helmet. “Who knows, maybe he’ll join the Haat Mando’ade!”

_I hope…_


	2. Mandokarla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayo, I'm back with another chapter because I can't control myself lmaooo.
> 
> Like I said before, If anyone can drop me a link to a good Mando/Star Wars or just general fandom discord, I'll write a 5000 word or less prompt for you! (Provided it's a fandom I know lmaoo)
> 
> But anyway, here's Din being an unintentionally attractive moron lol

Jaster cradled his head in his hands and let out a weary sigh. “What do you mean you can’t track him? Surely he has to have left some kind of trail?” He asked, taking off his helmet and rubbing a hand down his face.

Silas and Myles shifted uncomfortably in the dim lighting of the command tent. “That’s the problem Manda’lor. There’re too many trails to follow.” Silas reported.

Jaster silently lifted a brow and tilted his head to signal them to continue.

“There’s more trails of the same footprints in the dust than we can count that just lead nowhere. He must be using his jet pack to leave false trails.” Myles rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “But we have no idea how he did it, ‘cause they’re showing up everywhere, even in places we’ve already been-“

“He’s running circles around us Manda’lor.” Silas interjected, vocoder crackling with his heavy exhale. “We don’t even know how he’s doing it. It looks like some sort of _beroya_ technique, but it’s not one that we teach or one we’ve seen Death Watch use. But,” Silas tilted his visor to the ground, and Jaster could clearly picture the wicked smirk under the helmet. “We’ve been finding dead Death Watch operatives all over the place. Killed by a single blaster shot to the neck.”

Myles let out an impressed whistle. “Sounds like we have a marksman on our hands.”

“I just don’t understand why he’s running. He saved my Ad, surely he knows that we wouldn’t hurt him?” Jaster collapsed back into his chair.

Myles snorted and shifted his weight to one foot, tilting his head to the side. “I don’t know Manda’lor, maybe the cape intimidates him?” Myles gestured to Jaster’s blood red cape with a single hand.

Jaster shook his head in fond exasperation as the distinctive sound of a glove hitting beskar rang out through the otherwise silent tent. “Where’s Montross? He should be with you.”

“He split from his team and headed west, said something about following a new trail, he should be back soon enough” Silas answered, irritation hidden deep in his respectful tone.

Jaster dropped his head back into his hands. “I’ll need to have a talk with him once he gets back. He knows better than to head into Death Watch territory without back up.”

The faint sound of running footsteps prompted the tent’s occupants to straighten and do their best to look composed before a panting Haat’Ade in green armour burst through the tent’s entrance. “We found his camp,” the Mando panted as she drew in large gulps of air. “It’s still fresh.”

Jaster shot to his feet. “Myles go find Jango, Silas with me.” He barked as he marched after the still panting Haat’Ade.

With a short cry of “Yes Manda’lor!” Myles marched out of the tent in the direction of Jango’s tent while Silas followed closely at Jaster’s heels.

“Now, where is this camp you speak of?”

SWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWS

_These guys just won't give up!_ Din thought frantically to himself as he pressed himself into a craggy rock formation, heart clenching at the sound of multiple approaching jet packs in the air. He’d had a couple of close calls over the past few hours with the Mandalorians with the Mysthosaur sigil on their armour. A couple of scouting parties had gotten dangerously close while he had been trying to leave false trails to throw them off his scent. With the frequent search parties, Din hadn’t been able to risk going hunting for food, not after the other group had almost caught him in his temporary camp, so the last time he had eaten was the day before, and Din was still trying to pick scraps of that strange creature out of his teeth while his stomach twisted in hunger.

_Why are they still trying to find me? Shouldn’t they be out hunting the rest of those Demogolka that would hurt Ade?_ Din was reluctant to get involved any further in Mandalorian political intrigue, especially after the Darksabre fiasco. Bo-Katan had been particularly pushy and eager to fight for the kriffing thing, but Din would be ever thankful for Boba driving her away with a few sarcastic and biting words. Din wouldn’t have been able to handle any more of Bo-Katan’s pushing, especially after just losing his _Adiik._

Din let out a breath of relief as the Mandalorians passed overhead. Once the high whine of their jet packs had faded, Din cautiously crept out of his hiding place, eyes scanning the desolate landscape. Din cursed lightly under his breath at the lack of cover, the only viable options in sight being a few small boulders and withered trees dotting the endless dusty flats. Making sure to keep his feet in the footprints he had left before, Din flitted between cover, keeping his eyes firmly locked on the sky on the lookout for any other scouting parties.

He was so focused on looking for airborne patrols that he almost missed a squad of four approaching fast on the ground. Breath caught in his chest, Din scrambled behind a convenient rock and peered carefully out at the approaching group.

At the sight of black and blue armour that was eerily similar to Bo-Katan’s The anxiety clawing at Din’s throat lessened a little. At least he knew how to deal with _Hut’uun demogolka_ . If it had been a squad from the other group, he wouldn’t have known what to do. The other group didn’t seem to be hostile but the fervour with which they were hunting him down scared Din a little. Although Din supposed it must be his fault for scaring the _Ad'ika_ when he was dealing with the _demogolka_ that were trying to hurt them. Din didn’t want to kill an _Ad'ika’s Buir_ just because he’s scared, he knows what that’s like, so he did his best to just avoid them. Although, Din mused to himself, it would be hard to look at Bo-Katan without remembering the sickening sight of three adults trying to strangle an _Ad'ika_ since their armour looked so similar. If he ever saw her again. Din very carefully did not contemplate the possibility of never being able to see Boba, Fennec or his child again.

As the group drew closer, Din charged up his disruptor rifle, it was better not to take any chances with a group more than two since he didn’t want to give them the chance to call for backup and give away his position. Din may be a capable fighter, but there’s no way that he’d be able to take out an entire company of trained _Dar’Manda_ in beskar armour, without a conveniently abandoned E-Web that is. Besides, they might be carrying useful supplies that Din didn’t want to damage with blaster fire or his spear.

Once they came within a range where Din could safely say he wouldn’t miss, Din made quick work of the four _Dar’Manda_ , disintegrating them off one by one by aiming carefully between their beskar plates. _Their patrol sizes are increasing, they used to only go out alone or in pairs, they must have stepped up their security. I’ve gotta be more careful._ Din thought to himself as he approached the now empty suits of armour.

“Right, what have we got?” Din mumbled to himself, voice raspy from disuse. Din dug through the felled _demogolkas_ ’ belts and hidden pockets, humming to himself in delight when he came across a couple of ration bars and a water canteen. _Hmm, this’ll last me a couple of days if I’m careful._ Din thought to himself, tucking the ration bars into his belt and taking a quick swig of water.

A sudden crackling noise had Din drawing his blaster. Creeping cautiously closer to the source of the noise, Din let out a relieved sigh when he saw that it was only a blinking comm. _Nice going Djarin, you almost shot an empty suit of armour for a kriffing comm, what would Fennec say?_ Din thought, shaking his head at his own jumpiness.

Picking up the comm and an empty helmet, Din accepted the call, keeping the Dar’manda’s helm in frame.

_“Su’Cuy gar Vod. We’re gonna need some backup in the canyon. We’ve just picked up a few more workers for the mines. These ones look like they’ll break sooner than the others so we’ll have more soldiers soon, Vod. We’ll be able to crush that Haat’Ade scum in no tim-Ow!”_

A tiny armoured leg appeared on screen and kicked the _Dar’Manda_ in the back of the knee.

_“You little Bitch!”_ The _Hut’Uun_ screeched, kicking the leg back and stomping down hard off screen, earning a pain filled wail that had Din’s heart clenching in his chest. _“Yeah, we’ve got six Haat’Ade brats and we need some help getting them under control. Sending you the coordinates now. Delta squad out.”_

Din’s lips twisted up into a silent snarl beneath his helmet, burning rage setting his blood on fire. _“Haar’Chak!”_ Din cursed as loud as he dared, memorising the coordinates then crushing the comm beneath his boot. Any lingering guilt about killing those _demogolkas_ that he hadn’t physically seen hurting Ade withered and died.

Taking a deep breath, Din forced the rising rage down. Acting without thought would only get him and the Ade killed. No, he had to calm down and think this through if he wanted the Ade to emerge unscathed.

SWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSW

Jaster and his team of commandos (Plus Jango) touched down in front of what looked to be a regular outcropping of rock. “Where’s the camp? I can’t see anything?” asked Silas, his T-Visor scanning over the barren rocks.

“It’s over here, we only came across it by chance.” The Haat’Ade in the green armour who had reported the camp stepped up to outcropping and stuck her arms into a heap of dirt, rocks and sticks. “We only found it because we saw a stray striga trying to dig its way in.” She said cheerfully.

Jaster almost choked on his own saliva. “A striga? Was anyone hurt?” Jaster asked worriedly. In the harsh environment of that area of Concord Dawn, only a few species of fauna were hardy enough to survive the extreme conditions, with the fluctuating temperature and lack of food. One of which was the Striga, an apex predator that loped on four legs and moved as silently as the night. Just last week, a Striga had taken out an entire patrol of Haat’Ade. But what made them the perfect nightmare fuel was their oddly humanoid faces with a jutting lower jaw and fangs as large as Jaster’s forearm. Basically a night terror on four legs.

“No Manda’lor, we were in the air and we managed to scare it off with a flare. But here’s the kicker, I think you’re gonna love this.” She shifted the pile to the side and stepped away, revealing the entrance to a small cave.

Jango let out an impressed whistle at the sight. “Wow, I wouldn’t have ever guessed that there was a cave there.” Jango had his bucket on so Jaster couldn’t see his facial expression, but Jaster knew his _Ad_ well enough to tell from his body language that he was majorly impressed.

The commandos standing at Jango’s side murmured in agreement, discussing the advanced survival and camouflage techniques that the Mandalorian had used and whether they’d be able to pull it off by themselves alone in the wilds of Concord Dawn. The general consensus seemed to be a resounding ‘no’.

“Oh I know,” Their guide said, her voice wobbling slightly in excitement, “But that’s not even the best bit!” She spun on her heel and descended into the cave, signalling for Jaster and Silas to follow.

Jaster turned and signalled for two Commandos to stand watch at the entrance while the rest of the party went into the cave. The group all let out muted contented sighs at the cool air of the cave. Compared to the muggy heat of Concord dawn, the crisp air of the cave was a welcome change, especially under heavy beskar.

Jaster stopped dead in his tracks at the sight before him.

“Holy shit” came a quiet whisper from behind him.

There in front of him, was an entire roasted Striga.

“Well, I guess that answers the question about supplies.” Jango remarked, shock prevalent in his voice.

“Hey _Cyarika_ , would you be mad if I said that I wanna tap that?” Came a reverent whisper.

“Not if you let me join in.” Came the hushed reply.

That… Honestly Jaster couldn’t blame them. If the Mandalorian kept being so _Mandokarla_ then he’d have to start fighting off Haat’Ade with a stick. Heck the only thing he could do to really seal the deal would be to rescue a group of Ade from Death Watch…

“Manda’lor, we’ve gotta get this guy on our side! I mean, he’s already halfway there, killing off Death watch and all.” One of the Commandos exclaimed as they stepped closer to the striga. “I mean look at this! The only wound on this thing is a slit throat! Who the hell can get within 20 metres of a Striga without getting torn apart, let alone kill it?!”

At the Commando’s exclamation, the rest of the group crowded around the roasted Striga, ooing and ahing at the killing blow and whispering among themselves.

Jaster was about to reply when a glint of reflected light from the corner of the cave drew his attention. As he grew closer, Jaster’s heart sunk as he saw what had been left behind. A blaster. Was the Mandalorian left alone in the wilderness of Concord Dawn with only a spear and a vibro-blade? They’d have to step up their search efforts if they wanted to bring him in alive…

SWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWWSWSWSWS

Din hummed contentedly to himself as he ran his gloved hand over new blasters and blades that he had lifted off of the _demogolka_ that he had killed as he crouched behind a ridge near the coordinates from the comm. One can never have too many weapons, especially when you’re hunting _Dar’Manda_.

Din cut his musings short at the sight of the group he was waiting for approaching. Bringing up his scope to his visor, the rage simmering in Din’s blood ignited into a raging inferno at the sight of the six Ade bound by the neck being marched between two _Hut’uun Dar’Manda._

_Time to save a group of Ade from demogolka…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, If you've got any suggestions or spot any mistakes, then let me know! Please Please leave a comment because they provide me the will to live lmaoooo
> 
> Manda'lor- One true leader  
> Beroya- Bounty Hunter  
> Haat'Ade- True Mandalorians- Jaster's faction  
> Demogolka- Monster/Someone who would hurt children  
> Adiik- Child  
> Ad- Child  
> Hut'Uun- Extreme insult, Coward  
> Buir- Parent, Mother, Father  
> Dar'Manda- No longer Mandalorian  
> Su'Cuy gar- Hello  
> Vod- Brother  
> Haar'Chak- Swear word  
> Mandokarla- Having the 'right stuff' what makes a Mandalorian  
> Cyarika- Sweetheart


	3. Rescuing a Group Of Ade From Death Watch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit I am absolutely blow a w a y by the support omg! like, I posted this monstrosity 2 days ago and there's already over 400 kudos on this shit show?! 
> 
> But anyway, I'm glad that you guys like it!
> 
> Oh, and special thanks to Batsutousai and barbara6275 for pointing out me being a silly bitch in the last chapter and helping me fix it lol

_Calm down Djarin, anger makes people stupid, and stupidity gets people killed._ Din took a deep breath and forced the rising swell of rage in his chest down. Once the heat in his blood had died to a low simmer, Din brought his scope back up to his visor and surveyed the situation below.

Six Ade were being marched in a single file line between two armed guards with blaster rifles. The Ade looked to be between the ages of five and just over thirteen, with only one old enough to have passed their _Verd’Goten_ and in a set of dark orange armour. But the majority of the group looked to be about nine to ten years old. The guard at the back of the procession had his blaster trained on the back of one of the children’s heads. _Hut’uun demagolka._ Din gritted his teeth and forced himself to remain calm and not drop them where they stood. If he shot the one in front first, the one at the back might kill the Ade out of spite, and if he shot the one in the back first, the demagolka might reflexively squeeze the trigger, killing the Ade anyway. Besides, Din wanted to avoid any blaster shots, since any loud noise would echo off of the canyon walls, alerting anyone nearby and he didn’t know if the Demagolka had called in other squads besides Din for aid.

The Ade were all bound together by the neck with a long rope, with each of their wrists bound tightly together. _Hmmm, can’t have the Ade scatter either, not with them bound together…_ Din scanned the group’s immediate surroundings. At the sight of numerous withered trees and large cracked boulders, a plan slowly began to form.

SWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSW

From his position hidden behind a boulder to the rear of the group, Din retracted his whipchord. Getting down the side of the canyon had been a pain since he couldn’t use his jet pack, lest the noise alert the Dar’manda below, so Din had to scale the wall physically, trying to be as silent as possible.

With his gear sorted, Din reached down to the dusty ground and grasped a small rock, hefting it in his hand to test its weight. Once he was satisfied, Din reared back his arm and hurled the rock as hard as he could towards the front of the group. The rock impacted the hard ground about fifteen metres away from the guard at the front of the group, the deafeningly loud clatter echoing off of the canyon walls and kicking up a small cloud of dust.

Startled by the sudden noise, the group halted in their tracks and the two demagolka trained their blasters on the dissipating cloud of dust, shoulders up around their ears. The guard in the front flashed some sort of hand signal to the other and cautiously left the group to investigate the disturbance. The remaining guard nodded and trained his blaster back on the Ad’ika’s head.

One of the Ade, an adorable blonde-haired human boy, turned frantically looked around, terror exposing the whites of their eyes. Something in Din’s chest seized at the sight of a child’s fear. In an effort to soothe the Ad, Din cautiously peeked his head over the top of the boulder, locking eyes with terrified Ad through his visor. Once he had the Ad’s attention, Din raised a glove finger to his lips, watching as the child visibly gulped then nodded, nudging the Ad in armour in front of them.

Seeing his chance, Din crept forward until he was right behind the Dar’Manda before he wrapped his arm around their neck in a headlock before they could call out for help, slapping the blaster out of shock slackened hands with the other. Din then yanked the struggling Hut’uun behind the boulder, out of sight of the Ade, then drove his wickedest, most serrated vibro-blade up and under their ribs with a brutal yank, piercing their lungs to prevent them from making any noise. With one guard taken care of, Din immediately spun around and threw the knife with deadly precision, the thin blade slipping through the slim gap between the Dar’Manda’s helmet and cuirass until it protruded from the other side of their neck, silencing their pained screams.

Wasting no time, sprinted past the clamouring group of Ade and retrieved his blade before dragging the corpse out of sight in case any patrols came snooping around later.

The frightened murmuring of six terrified children drew Din’s attention. The armoured Ad’ike at the front of the group had the other younger members of the group crouch down behind them as they attempted to shield them from sight with their own body, even as they clearly favoured their right side from an unseen injury.

Din’s heart melted at the sight. _Mandokarla…_ “Shh shh shh, easy, I’m not going to hurt you. I want to help you, see?” Din raised his hands in the air palm up before flipping the knife in his hand so that he was holding the blade with the hilt extended towards the armoured Ad’ika, a Twi’lek judging by the flared helmet.

Keeping their visor firmly locked on Din, the Ad’ika slowly reached out their bound hands and grasped the knife. Once it was clear that Din wouldn’t move, they brought the blade up to their neck and slashed the knotted rope. After they had freed their hands, the verd’ika released the other Ade one by one. Once all of the Ade were free, she subtly positioned herself back in front of the huddled group, stance wide to shield as many of them as she could.

“Good, you’re all doing great. What’s your names Ade?” Din asked softly, keeping his hands in plain sight, body loose and hunched in on itself as much as his armour would allow in an effort to make himself seem less threatening.

At Din’s quiet question, a tiny form darted out from the huddled group, ignoring the verd’ika’s warning shout, thumped into his legs and wrapped tiny arms around Din’s waist. The youngest of the group, a five year old Zabrak boy, beamed up at Din with a wide gap toothed grin, baby fangs glinting in the soft light. “Hi! I’m Sonan! Thanks for saving us mister! What’s your name?”

Din was glad for his helmet as an involuntary flush warmed his cheeks, skin tingling under his armour at the gentle pressure of the child’s arms even with the barrier of beskar between them. Din brought a hand down on Sonan’s head and gently stroked the skin between his horns. “Hi there Sonan. You can call me _Beroya_ . Can you tell me where your Buire are so I can take you home?” Din asked, his gentle smile adding a tangible warmth to his raspy voice. Din felt guilty for not telling the obviously Mandalorian foundlings his name, but he couldn’t risk the other group of Mandalorians using it to track him down. Din really wasn’t in the mood for being beaten up. The beating that he guessed they were going to give him for scaring the Ad Jango is probably only going to be worse since he just brutally murdered two men in front of five Ade who had not yet passed their _Verd’goten. Although to be fair, I would beat myself up for that too…_

Sonan’s lower lip wobbled and tears filled his wide brown eyes.

At the sight of the child’s tears, Din felt a bolt of panic shoot through his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.” Din gently wiped the tears away from Sonan’s chubby cheeks.

The armoured Verd’ika let out a sigh and straightened up from her defensive stance, though her shoulders remained tense, a sure sign that she was still nervous, the children behind her following her lead. “We don’t know if any of our _Buire_ are still alive or not. Me and my _Buir_ were on a mission protecting a farm here on Concord Dawn, as ordered by our Manda’lor, since Death Watch have been raiding more recently.” She lowered the knife to her side. “All of us were taken during the raid by Death Watch.” She jerked her head in the direction of the two fallen Dar’Manda. “They mentioned something about taking us to the mines and making us Death Watch soldiers. But there is somewhere safe you can take us if you’re willing. I’m Ayet by the way.”

Din forced the swelling anger down for the sake of the Ade at Ayet’s words. “Death Watch? Is that what they’re called?” Din asked lip curling in derision. When Bo-Katan was calling him a ‘child of the watch’ is that what she meant? A demagolka? Next time he saw her he was going to punch her right in her smug fa- Wait. “Did you say Manda’lor?” Din asked, dumbfounded, instinctively reaching beneath his cloak to run his fingers over the cylindrical hilt of the Darksabre. _I thought that Boba said that you had to win the Darksabre in battle to be the Manda’lor?_

Ayet nodded resolutely, “Yes. Our Manda’lor. Leader of the True Mandalorians and rightful owner of the Darksabre. No matter what that _shabuir_ Vizsla says.”

“Language.” Din scolded instinctively, mind reeling, is she saying that this ‘Vizsla’ has the Darksabre? _Impossible._ Din thought to himself. Putting the thought aside for later when they weren’t in danger of encountering another Death Watch patrol, Din brought the conversation back on track. “Okay then, where is this ‘safe place?’”

Ayet’s helm tilted to the side. “Huh? Shouldn’t you know? Aren’t you one of the Haat’Ade? You can’t be Death Watch, and you obviously aren’t a New Mandalorian ‘cause they don’t wear armour.” Ayet’s statement was met with murmurs of agreement from the Ade behind her.

Din stuttered, hand’s stilling in their soothing motions over Sonan’s horns as he struggled to find an excuse.

Ayet cut off Din’s sputtering with a shake of her head, a chorus of giggles sounding from the group behind her. “Never mind, you’re obviously an enemy of Death Watch, and my _Buir_ would say that we owe you a life debt so I won’t ask.” Ayet pointed to a painted red mythosaur signet on her pauldron. “This is the symbol of the Haat’Ade. The ones loyal to the One True Manda’lor, Jaster Mereel.” The foundlings behind her all nodded along in agreement. “The camp that me and my _Buir_ were staying at before our mission is a couple of klicks south from here. It’s the Haat’Ade base camp, Death Watch can’t get us if we’re in there!”

_Huh, well at least I’ve got a name for the persistent bastards now…_ Din let out a resigned sigh and inclined his head in agreement. _If the farm that the Ade are from is destroyed like they said, It’s not safe to take them back there, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting a group of Ade wander alone in the wilderness. Children are the future. This is the wa-_ Din forcibly halted his thoughts. He broke the creed by taking off his helmet in front of others, he has no right to call himself Mandalorian.

“Are you blaster trained?” Din asked Ayet, tilting his head in question. At her silent nod, Din drew out the blasters that he had lifted from the Death Watch patrol that he had gotten the comm from and handed it over to Ayet. “Now, all the younger kids are going to walk in front of me, except for you Ayet. What I want you to do is aim that blaster at my back, and shoot if you feel that you or the other kids are in danger from me. Normally, I’d keep you all together, I need to keep an eye on them just in case any more Death Watch show up, and the dust plains are dangerous.” Din’s throat ached from overuse, his voice growing raspier by the second. It had to have been the most that Din had talked at one time in months.

The last remaining traces of tension still gripping Ayet drained away as she grasped the blaster in a sure grip, bringing it up to aim squarely at the centre of Din’s chest. Although she tellingly left the safety on.

A warm fuzzy feeling swelled in Din’s chest, both at being able to ease a child’s worries, and at the sight of the Ad’ika’s trust.

“Now, I’ve got a very important secret mission for each of you. Sonan, you need to listen out for animals, and you-…

SWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSW

“Manda’lor! Come quick!”

Jaster paused mid sentence as gave feedback on Silas’ report of the Mandalorian’s camp and their search efforts. sparing a quick look with Jango, Jaster grabbed his helmet and rushed out of the command tent expecting to be met with a Death Watch strike team, Silas, Myles and Jango hot on his heels.

Instead, Jaster was met with an unexpected sight. The six missing Ade who had disappeared during a Death Watch raid earlier, including Rhydor’s Ad Ayet who was on her first mission, were all stood outside of his tent. All of the Ade were locked in a tearful reunion with their _Buire_ , except for a small Zabrak boy who was being talked to gently by two of Jaster’s commandos. Jaster shook his head sadly to himself. The poor boys _Buire_ had likely perished during the raid. Jaster made a mental note to ask around his commandos to see if anyone was looking for a little one to adopt.

Jaster flagged down Rhydor and Ayet once they had broken out of their tearful embrace. Jaster drank in the joyous cries of the Ade and their _Buire_ around him as Rhydor and Ayet weaved through the crowd towards him. As it should be, children are the future. The duo came to a stop before Jaster and his seconds, bowing their heads respectfully, buckets tucked under their arms. ‘

“I’m glad that you have returned safely, Ad’ika. Now, tell me what happened.” Jaster smiled warmly at the grinning twi’lek.

Ayet’s sky blue skin dimpled on her cheeks as her smile grew wider, threatening to split her face in two. “Me and the others were taken by Death Watch during the farm raid, Manda’lor. I don’t know what they wanted with us, but I heard them mention something about a mine and soldiers when they were on the comm.” Ayet shuffled and drew out a wicked looking knife and a standard blaster pistol.

Jaster felt his eyebrows raise involuntarily as he exchanged looks with his officers and son. “Ad, are you telling me that you took out fully armed Death Watch operatives and led back the other Ade?”

Startled, Ayet’s eyes snapped back to Jaster’s face, a dumbfounded look on her face. “What, no! A Mandalorian in shiny pure beskar dropped down the canyon out of nowhere, killed the two Death Watch with this knife then freed us. But Manda’lor, I don’t think he was one of us… He didn’t even know where the camp was, or who you were…”

Jaster ignored Jango and Myles’ snickers from their place at his side. Jaster’s commandos shuffled closer, obviously eavesdropping as they murmured excitedly amongst themselves.

“Did this Mandalorian have a dark grey _kute_ and cape with an unpainted silver jet pack?” Silas asked, head tilted in interest.

The murmuring commandos erupted into cheers at Ayet’s confused nod. “Well, whoever this Mandalorian is, I want to thank him.” Rhydor rumbled in his deep, husky voice. “Both me and my Ad owe him a life debt.”

“Get in line.” Jango snorted.

Jaster subtly cleared his throat to quiet his clamouring commandos down from their impromptu celebration. “Continue, Ad’ika.”

Ayet’s eyes flitted suspiciously between Jaster and Jango before hesitantly continuing with her report. “He told us to call him _Beroya_ , then he gave me this blaster and knife and told me to shoot him if I felt unsafe.”

“Holy shit.” Someone from the crowd said softly, the rest of the commandos nodding silently in agreement.

“Oh! And _Beroya_ gave us secret missions too!” the Zabrak boy- Sonan if Jaster remembered correctly- yelled, his tiny form thumping into Rhydor’s orange painted armour, who reached a gauntleted hand down to steady the giddy child.

Silas’ soft gaze sharpened as he stared down at Sonan with renewed focus. “What did he say? Did he ask you to spy on us? Provide classified intel?”

Sonan’s head tilted to the side in confusion. “What? No! My secret mission was to listen for dager-dangr-dangeroos animals! _Beroya_ said there are animals that eat little children! But I listened really hard and _Beroya_ said that I did a good job!”

Any lingering suspicion in Jaster’s mind fled at the Ad’s adorable speech, soft smile growing as the other rescued Ade piped in with their ‘secret missions’

“ _Beroya_ said that I had to look out for dark sand!”

“My secret mission was to look for hidden holes!”

“Mine was to listen for jet packs!”

_Mandokarla…_ Jaster thought privately to himself. As if being a deadly hunter who had defended Jango, the Manda’lor’s _aliit_ wasn’t enough, the mysterious Mandalorian- _Beroya, bounty hunter_ \- had to be good with children too. Now that was just overkill. Jaster’s commandos seemed to be thinking the same thing if the besotted looks visible on those without their buckets was any indicator.

_And I was kidding about saving a group of Ade from Death Watch, but I’m certainly not complaining… But the most interesting thing about this is Death Watch mentioning mines. Surely they can't be holed up in the old beskar mines up north near the canyon? That would be suicide! Those mines are death traps!_

“Oh, and _Buir_?” Ayet asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Yes, Ad?” Rhydor answered, stroking a hand down her Iekku while keeping a steadying grip on Sonan who was still clinging to his leg.

“ _Beroya_ didn’t have any mismatched armour, so he’s still single.”

The camp descended into chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayo, please comment! Comments give me life! And as always, if you spot any mistakes or have any suggestions, please tell me!
> 
> Ade- Children  
> Verd'Goten- Mandalorian coming of age ceremony where one turns 13 and gets their armour  
> Hut'uun- Major insult- coward  
> Demogolka- Monster, someone who would hurt children  
> Buir- Parent  
> Buire- Parent plural  
> Dar'Manda- No longer Mandalorian  
> Ad'ika- Child  
> Mandokarla- 'having the right stuff', what makes a good Mandalorian  
> Verd'ika- little warrior  
> Beroya- Bounty hunter  
> Ad- Child  
> Kute- Undersuit  
> Aliit- Clan


	4. A New Aliit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned how blown away I am at the support. Like. Guys! I'm crying here!
> 
> Oh, and I've spotted a couple of common questions in the comments so I'll put the answer up here to avoid confusion.
> 
> I've messed with the timeline a bit for my own nefarious purposes lol, This fic is set a year before Korda 6, so 43BBY. 
> 
> The characters' ages are:  
> Jaster- 41  
> Din- 36  
> Jango-15  
> Obi-Wan-14
> 
> Yeah, Ive bumped up Melida/Daan cause having the 9 year age gap between Jango and Obi would have made me hella uncomfortable lol
> 
> Oh and as for why Din's running from the Haat'ade:
> 
> Din needs some major help with his self image, cause Din grew up in a conservative covert that made him doubt himself for taking his helmet off in front of others, something that other madalorians do all the time, including Jaster the big boss man himself. It's genuinely heartbreaking that he's doubting his identity as a mandalorian in canon because of the covert's strict rules with no extenuating circumstances or forgiveness, when everything he does (Protecting his clan, providing for the covert, caring for children) is so mandokarla!
> 
> As for why Din is so scared of being physically beaten up, we've seen other members of the covert whale on him for less when he simply took a job for the good of the covert and the foundlings (But Paz is a bit of an imperial mega hater tbf lmaoo) (All that beskar!), but who's to say it hasn't happened before. Din doesn't know that he's time travelled, and he hasn't seen anyone take off his helmet, so he probably thinks that they were brought up with the same creed as him, and just as likely to punish him for something his creed deems as wrong

“Twenty seconds” Din murmured to himself, looking down his scope at the empty guard post, counting down the seconds in his head before the fresh rotation of Death Watch guards took their place at the entrance of the mine. “I can do twenty seconds…” Din mused, scanning the area surrounding the entrance. There looked to be enough tarp covered mining carts littered across the cracked earth to muffle the sound of his jet pack just enough so that the mine’s occupants wouldn’t hear it, and noting the falling apart mining vessel parked behind the mine.

A fragile hope blossomed in Din’s chest. _Looks like getting back to Tattoine isn’t so impossible after all…_

Din settled into his hiding spot atop the ridge to wait out the three hours before the next guard rotation, going over his plan once more while he waited.

_Right, Djarin, the plan is simple and you have no excuse to mess it up. The goal is to gather enough intel about Death Watch operations on Concord Dawn and the layout of their base in the mines to trade with the Haat’ade for forgiveness and passage to Tattoine._

From what Din had seen previously from his close call with returning the group of Ade to their camp, the Haat’ade cherish their children as they should. Children are the future. Din had no doubts that once they were provided with the right intel, the Haat’ade would retrieve the Ade that Din suspected were being held in the mines.

There’s no way that Din would be able to raid an entire base by himself, and causing a distraction for a larger window to enter the mines would only work against him by making the camp more alert and watchful. Din’s only real option was stealth. Luckily, a mine would be dark with plenty of nooks and crannies to hide in, and Din knew for a fact how hard it was to see out of your periphery vision when wearing a helmet with a T-Visor.

With the bare-bones of a plan settled, Din settled in to wait.

SWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSW

_Now!_

Din sprang into motion as the guards stationed at the entrance disappeared into the mine, leaping off the edge of the ridge and touching down softly on the dusty ground. Once he was safely situated, Din broke into a full sprint into the mine, only just managing to tuck himself behind a support pillar as the next shift of guards passed, none the wiser to Din’s hiding spot.

Once the guards had passed, Din released the breath he had been holding. _Step one complete… Now to find where they’re keeping the Ade and map out the layout without being caught, how hard could it be?..._

Cautiously, Din crept out from behind the support pillar, ears pricked for the sound of approaching footsteps and began his journey deeper into the mines.

After around twenty minutes of walking, (Well more like skulking), Din’s instincts were screaming at him that something was wrong. Din hadn’t seen a single member of Death Watch. If Din’s instincts were correct, then the mines were Death Watch’s main base of operations, but aside from the guards outside, Din hadn’t seen a single soul. Something was off.

As Din rounded the next corner, his eyes were drawn to a faint flickering light dancing across the uneven ground. Tilting his head, Din drew the vibro-blade hidden in his boot, because something told him that shooting off a blaster in an enclosed space filled with unmined beskar, which is known to reflect blaster bolts, wasn’t a good idea.

Crouching low, Din slowly advanced towards the source of the light, hand clenched tight around the hilt of his blade as his uneasiness grew.

_What in the…?_

Din lowered his vibro-blade in shocked bewilderment. There, nestled in the corner of an open cavern slightly wider than the claustrophobic tunnels that Din had been trekking through, was a terminal. But what drew Din’s attention was the image emblazoned across the screen. It was an action shot of a man in black armour standing atop a tank, long black hair flowing in the wind, the words ‘The one true Manda’lor’ emblazoned in blocky red font at the top of the screen. The rest of the world began to fade away as Din’s eyes focused on what was clenched in the man’s hand. The man held the darksabre high above his head, the tip pointed forward as if to point the way for a battle charge.

Din’s ears began to ring, a high pitched whine drowning out the ambient sounds of the mine around him. The cylinder holstered at his hip began to warm and vibrate, an innate feeling of wrongness setting his teeth on edge.

**_FALSE_ **

****

A sudden voiceless yell split Din’s head like thunder, sending pain arching down his spine. Din was suddenly shoved forward by what felt like two burning hot incorporeal hands on his shoulder blades until he came to a stop right in front of the terminal.

**_FALSE MA-_ **

****

A sudden harsh beeping from the terminal accompanied by a red flashing light jerked Din out of his impromptu temporary madness, immediately drawing his attention to the stark white dialogue box now spanning the screen, covering up the image of what Din guessed to be the ‘Vizsla’ that Ayet had mentioned before.

“All available units to the dust wastes at these coordinates. Supplies cache under attack. Mereel spotted.” Din read aloud. Instantly, any lingering feeling of wrongness evaporated, instead replaced by a feeling of warmth and- approval?

_What the kriff?_

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Din grabbed a data pad off the desk and continued deeper into the mine. If the Haat’ade were providing a distraction, even unintentional, Din would have to take advantage of it before Death Watch returned. Any thoughts about what had just happened could wait until he was in hyperspace on the way to Tattoine and back to Boba. _I’m going to have to apologise for losing his new ship…_

After another twenty minutes of wondering the Death Watch’s base and noting down the layout and the locations of what looked to be abandoned guard stations and common areas on his pilfered data pad, Din was startled by a sudden laugh echoing off of the stone walls.

“Ohohoho! A little earlier than usual isn’t it? What’s wrong? Back for more? I always know that you sickos would be the type of pervert that enjoyed being kicked in the balls!” A woman’s yell sounded from down the tunnel.

“Hello?” Din answered cautiously, voice raspy as he crept closer.

“Wha- Who are you?”

As he drew closer, Din could just about make out the shape of a blonde woman in her early twenties chained to the wall in a cell in the darkness, face wreathed in shadow. Moving fast, Din ducked into the small alcove where the cell was nestled. “You can call me _Beroya_. Who are you?”

The woman leaned forward, illuminating herself in the dim flickering light of the wall lamps, revealing a face more with bruises than skin. A patchwork of deep purples and sickly greens bloomed across her face and down her neck until they disappeared into a threadbare rag that looked to have more holes than fabric.

The woman locked eyes with Din through his visor, baring her teeth in a defiant snarl. “I’m Arla. Arla Fett. And nothing that those Death Watch _Hut’uun_ do will ever change that.”

Din choked on his next breath. “Did you say Fett?”

Arla’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as she leaned forward to get a better look at Din from where he stood the side of the cell before they widened in shocked realisation. “You’ve heard that name before, haven’t you?” She jerked forward in her chains, wrenching her arms in an effort to get closer to him. “Is it Jango? Is my brother still alive?!”

Speechless, Din nodded. “I-I saw him. He’s alive.”

Arla let out a breathless laugh, slumping back against the wall. “Good… That’s good…”

Din shifted from foot to foot, conflicted about what he should do. On one hand, he had come here to collect information to trade for safe passage to Tattoine, and to make rescuing the Ade trapped in the mines as easy for the Haat’ade as he could. But on the other hand, this woman was from the same clan as Boba, and although Boba had told him in the past that Din should consider them even after he had returned Grogu to his arms, Din would never be able to forgive himself if he knowingly left member of Boba’s _Aliit_ behind.

Mind set, Din turned back to the cell. “Do you know where they are keeping the Ade?”

“W-What?” Arla stuttered, taken aback.

“Do you know where Death Watch are keeping the Ade that they take here?” Din repeated, striding closer to the cell while rifling around in his belt. Returning to Tattoine would have to wait.

A vicious grin spread across Arla’s face as a knowing glint entered her eyes. “Yeah, and I know all the guard rotations too.”

Din nodded in satisfaction, kneeling down to pick the rusted lock of the cell. “Most of Death Watch aren’t here, but we’ll need to move fast if we want to escape before they get back.” The lock clicked open. “Can you walk?” Din immediately moved to start on the locks on Arla’s manacles.

Arla nodded in reply as her chains fell to the damp ground, rubbing at her rubbed raw wrists as she shakily got to her feet and accepted the blaster that Din offered with a thankful nod of her head. “Lead the way bounty hunter.”

The two made quick work of retracing Din’s steps back to the entrance, Arla leaning on Din’s shoulder.

“Do you trust me to lead you and airlift you once we get outside? Judging by your clothes, you’ve been in there for a long time and it’ll take a while for your eyes to adjust. More time than we have.” Din asked, holstering his blaster pistol at his hip.

“You’ve gotten me further than I have managed in years of trying to escape by myself, and you don’t look or act like Death Watch.” Arla hefted the blaster in her hand. “But I reserve the right to shoot you if you try anything funny.”

Din shook his head in silent amusement. He could see the relation to Boba. “That’s fair.” Din held out the data pad that he had been recording his notes on. “Take this. I’m going to take you to your brother, but I can’t go into the camp with you. Can you give this to Mereel? It’s got the general layout of the mine and the rotation of the guards at the entrance on it.”

“Sure, but why can’t you tell them yourself?” Arla asked as she accepted the data pad.

“Uh…” Din rubbed the back of his neck. “Let’s just say it’s complicated.”

“You saved my life, so I won’t ask.” Arla nodded resolutely. “But I want you to know that whatever your reason is, it’s probably stupid, and you’re overthinking it.”

Din shook his head with an exasperated sigh and wrapped his arms under Arla’s knees and shoulder blades, scooping her into his arms into a bridal carry. _Tch, she’s too light for her height, the Haat’ade need to feed her once she gets settled._ “Brace yourself.” Din murmured, powering up his jet pack.

SWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSW

Jaster crossed the threshold of the Haat’ade camp with Jango and Myles at his side. “Good work Haat’ade! We dealt a heavy blow to Death Watch today! We celebrate at dusk!” Jaster grinned under his bucket at the rowdy cries of his commandos before turning to Myles and Jango. “How many supplies did we get from this raid?”

Myles and Jango slipped off their buckets, twin elated grins stretched across their faces. “Enough _Tihaar_ and _Ne’tra gal_ to get thoroughly sloshed tonight, Manda’lor!” Myles crowed, sharing friendly shoulder bumps with the surrounding commandos.

Jango snorted and continued the report, not so subtly kicking Myles in the shin. “Enough bacta, food and water to last us at least a month _, Buir.”_

“Thank you, Ad.” Jaster ruffled Jango’s short dark locks, drawing an indignant squark from the teenager. “See that Myles? That’s how you make a report. You’re on guard duty tonight, so no _Tihaar_ for you.” Jaster patted Myles on the shoulder as he passed him by on the way to Jaster’s command tent with Jango at his heels, smirking at the man’s incoherent sputtering.

The sound of shuffling sounded from inside the tent, startling both Jaster and Jango into drawing their blasters. _Someone’s in there, but everyone in command is accounted for and Haat’ade know better than to enter without one of us present…_ Jaster brought a hand up to signal to his Ad. _Enter in 3, 2, 1._

Both Jaster and Jango burst through the tent’s entrance, blasters trained on the intruder, who was sitting in one of the chairs next to the war table.

“Aww, is that how you greet your _Ori’vod, Jan’ika_?” The intruder asked, a mischievous smile on her face.

Jango flinched at his side and lowered his blaster. “A-Arla…?” Jango asked, voice cracking with emotion.

The intruder- Arla, raised her head, a beaming smile splitting the dehydrated skin of her lips, revealing blood stained teeth. “I’m home, _Vod’ika_.”

A choked sob escaped from his Ad, tears welling in his dark eyes as his face twisted with emotion. Jango’s helmet slipped from his slackened arm to land on the floor with a thump, as Jango seemingly teleported across the tent into Arla’s arms.

“Hahaha! Ugh, watch the ribs! I’m glad to see you too, _Vod’ika!”_ Arla laughed, wrapping her arms around Jango’s shaking shoulders, bringing his head to rest in the crook of her neck.

With the threat gone, Jaster holstered his blaster and walked over to the two reunited siblings, a soft smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “So, she is your _Vod_ , Jango?” Jaster asked warmly, pulling off his helmet.

Jango didn’t reply, instead burying his face deeper his _Ori’vod’s_ neck with a silent nod.

Jaster set his helmet on the war table and crossed over to kneel at Arla and Jango’s side. “I’m sorry for what happened to your parents, Arla. Jango told me what happened. But would you like to join your _Vod_ as the _Aliit be Manda’lor_?” Jaster asked, setting a gentle hand on his son’s shoulder.

“Yes, _buir_.” Arla said, a wobbly smile crossing her bruised face, tears gathering in her eyes.

“ _Ni kar’tayl gai sa’ad_ , Arla” Jaster smiled as he brought his other arm around his new Ad’s shoulders, pulling both of his against his chest in a warm embrace, eyes burning with unshed tears.

After a few minutes of holding his Ade to his chest, Jaster sat back on his heels and regarded Arla. “Now _Ad’ika_ , before we get you some bacta, can you tell me where you came from and how you got here? The guards should have seen you on your way in.”

Arla nodded and sat back in her chair, Jango still sprawled across her lap, a fond smile crossing her face. “I was being kept in the old beskar mines by Death Watch since they raided our family’s homestead. But someone showed up today and busted me out. They didn’t give me a name but told me to call them beroya.”

Jango’s shoulders jolted and he turned to look incredulously over his shoulder at Jaster.

Arla raised a single brow, “I’m guessing you know who I’m talking about. I asked why he wouldn’t come with me, but he just said that it was complicated. Oh yeah! He asked me to give this to ‘Mereel’, I’m guessing that’s you, Manda’lor.” Arla leant backwards and snatched a data pad from the floor before holding it out to Jaster. “Beroya said that he’s recorded the layout of the mines and some of the guard rotas on this ‘pad.”

Jaster took the data pad, dumbfounded at the sudden unexpected turn of events, before his eyes hardened and he leant forward to lock eyes with Jango. “Both you and your V _od_ now owe this _Beroya_ a life debt, and as Manda’lor, I cannot let a debt of this magnitude go unpaid. I want you to put together a taskforce to track him down.” Jaster shook his head with a snort. “Just make sure they behave.” He added before turning on his heel to find Montross and Silas, data pad clutched in his hand.

_Just wait until his commandos hear about this…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Please leave a comment, comments give me life lolol. And as always, if you spot a mistake or have a suggestion, please tell me!
> 
> Oh, and I tried to insert an image in this chapter of a picture I drew of Ayet but I don't think it's working lol, so imma drop the twitter link here:
> 
> https://twitter.com/Dirkapitation1/status/1360039500110589954
> 
> Huut'uun- extreme insult, coward  
> Aliit- Clan, Family  
> Tihaar- alcoholic drink - strong clear spirit made from fruit,  
> Ne'tra gal- black ale - sweet, almost spicy black beer similar to milk stout  
> Buir- Parent  
> Ori'Vod- big sibling  
> Vod- Sibling  
> Vod'ika- Little Sibling  
> Aliit Be Manda'lor- Clan of the Manda'lor  
> Jan'ika- Affectionate term of address for jango  
> Ni kyr’tayl gai sa’ad- Mandalorian adoption vows  
> Beroya- Bounty hunter


	5. Scheming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter is as good as the other ones 'cause I didn't plan this one out lmaoooo

“So Montross, care to explain yourself?” Jaster asked, resting his chin on his hand as he leant back in the small throne that his Haat’ade had insisted on building for him.

“U-Uh, well you see Manda’lor-“ Montross stuttered, hands fidgeting from their place behind his back.

Jaster narrowed his eyes in suspicion at his second’s uncharacteristic behaviour. His usually calm and well put together second in command was avoiding eye contact and shifting on his feet like a scolded _Ad’ika_. Something wasn’t right…

“Montross.” Jaster sighed, bringing up a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose to stave of a building headache, “I want to believe you. I want to believe that you were gathering intelligence on Death Watch, but you’re making it really hard for me to believe you. You wondered off. By yourself. In Death Watch territory. With no witnesses.”

Montross sputtered, his pallid cheeks growing ruddy with embarrassment. “Oh, so when a feral rogue Mandalorian does it, it’s Mandokarla, but when your own second does it it’s suspicious?” Montross’ leather gloves squeaked in the silence of the tent as he clenched his hands tight behind his back. “Everything I do is for the good of Mandalore.”

Jaster sighed out heavily through his nose at Montross’ words. “You’ve changed Montross. Even foundlings know better than to wander off without telling someone. From this point forward, until I can verify your story, you’re going to have an escort. If you really have nothing to hide, you shouldn’t be worried.”

“Wha- This is outrageous! You’re all treating this- this outsider with higher regard than me! Your own second! And you call yourself Manda’lor?! You don’t even have the darksa-“

“Enough!” Jaster yelled, raising his voice in genuine at one of his own for the first time in years. “That is enough, Montross! If you have a problem with how I rule, then you know how to bring it up using proper protocol.” With a heavy sigh, Jaster slumped back in his chair, anger receding only to be replaced by an overwhelming sensation of melancholy. “On the merit of our longstanding relationship, I will disregard your words as a fit of temporary madness, but if it happens again, you will not receive the same courtesy. You will be watched until you are proven trustworthy.” Jaster dragged a hand down his weary face, a bone deep exhaustion settling under his skin.

“Dismissed.”

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Hours later saw Jaster standing at the war table with Silas and Myles at his side as he pored over the 3D hologram model put together by their slicers with the aid of Arla and _Beroya’s_ info. Until Montross was cleared, Jaster’s second was barred from attending any meetings between command

“Hmm, It’s going to be a difficult assault.” Myles mused to himself, a hand cradling his chin in thought. “No matter which direction we go at it, Death Watch have a pretty defensible position.”

Silas nodded in agreement, eyes locked on the twisting narrow tunnels shown on the map. “If we breach their base they will have plenty of choke points to hold us off with.” Silas gestured with a single hand.

“And if we attack from outside the base, They’ll have good cover while we’re out in the open. They also have home advantage, Jango, what’s your input- Jango?” Jaster looked around the tent, a dumbfounded expression on his face. “Where’s Jango, he normally sits in on these meetings as training to be the next Manda’lor. It’s not like him to skip, especially for an operation like this.” Jaster jerked his head in the direction of the holomap.

Myles and Silas glanced at each other before Myles snorted and jerked his thumb towards the entrance of the command tent. “Where do you think?” 

The sounds of beskar hitting beskar and grunts of exertion drifted through the tent flaps. A low chuckle escaped Jaster’s mouth. “Why am I not surprised?” Jaster retrieved his bucket from the edge of the table and rolled his shoulders back, sighing as multiple pops rang through the air. “How about we take a break and see how the recruitment for the _Beroya_ taskforce is going eh?“ Jaster winked before strolling out the tent, a spring in his step.

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Jango crossed out another name on the board of names currently resting in his lap to the sound of raucous cheering as he leaned gingerly against Arla’s side, wary of aggravating her injuries. “Congratulations Arlene, you’re now a member of the _Beroya_ task force.”

The mando in fuchsia armour left standing in the makeshift tournament ring threw her arms in the air and let out a mighty roar. “Suck on that Kurtar! Guess who gets to talk to the hot _Beroya_ before you do!” Arlene kicked the downed commando at her feet, the impact of beskar on beskar ringing out above the clamours of the rest of the Haat’ade.

Jango scrolled down the to the next section of the list before his eyes stopped on the name of the two last candidates for the leader of the taskforce. _Rhydor… That’s Ayet’s buir._ Jango’s eyes were drawn to the Twi’lek girl as she pinched the Zabrak kid’s chubby cheeks across the camp, Sonan giggling and half-heartedly slapping at the girl’s hands. The other children that _Beroya_ had saved from Death Watch were scattered in a loose group around them, imitating the moves that the _Beroya_ had pulled off against Death Watch to a group of at least ten mesmerised Haat’ade.

Ayet had been pretty transparent with her goals after announcing the _Beroya’s_ relationship status in front of the entire camp. The little blue gremlin was angling to set up her _Buir_ and the _Beroya_ and cause as much chaos as she could in the process. Jango felt a vicious grin stretch his mouth behind his helmet. _Oh it is on… Too bad that the little gremlin is too young to be on the taskforce, what a shame~ Besides, I owed him a life debt first, she’s going to have to get in line._

Jango felt a shiver run down his spine at the clean, precise moves of the _Beroya_ as he took down four fully armed Death Watch soldiers with only a spear. As soon as Jango had declared his debt to the _Beroya_ , he was going to ask for spear wielding lessons. He had never seen anyone move in heavy beskar with such grace, and Jango was just itching to try it out for himself, and if the _Beroya_ and his _Buir_ ended up getting together, Jango would have unlimited access to the _Beroya_. Ayet would just have to deal with it.

Jango had been asking Arla for tips on how to perfect his sad tooka eyes to employ as a secret weapon against the elusive _Beroya,_ and he could safely say that they were deadly, as soon as Jango and his taskforce tracked down the _Beroya_ , there was no way he would be able to resist.

“Jango, Arla!” Jango’s head snapped towards the direction of the command tent where Jaster and his officers were picking their way through the packed crowd of Haat’ade towards him. “There you are, Ad. How’s the taskforce selection going?”

Jango handed over the data pad of names with a proud smirk. “Almost done, _Buir_. This is going to be the last round to determine the leader of the taskforce.”

His _Buir_ took the data pad with a thankful nod, scanning over the list of names. “These are good picks, Ad. The majority of these Haat’ade specialise in tracking and capture missions and will prove useful in finding _Beroya_ .” Jaster nodded with approval, handing the ‘pad back to Jango. “And I know for a fact that they are all eager to meet him so that will bring some extra enthusiasm to the mission.” His _Buir_ shifted his weight from one foot to another, a mischievous grin stretching across his face and crinkling the laugh lines around his warm brown eyes. “But the Manda’lor has first dibs on courting offers.” He laughed with a wink.

Jango snorted in amusement as a chorus of outraged groans rose from the eavesdropping crowd. “So you’re gonna try and court Beroya, Buir?” Jango asked, the previously bustling camp going completely silent in anticipation for their Manda’lor’s answer.

Jaster’s grin widened. “Of course I am, Ad’ika. I would be a fool not to. I owe the man two life debts, since he saved the lives of both of my precious Ade.” Jango’s cheeks warmed at the praise. "He’s an incredible hunter and Beroya, and best of all, he’s great with handling multiple Ade at once. If he was any more Mandokarla, he would explode!” Jaster guffawed, the rest of the Haat’ade cheering in agreement.

Arla scoffed, making Jango’s chest vibrate from where he was pressed up against her side, after his Ori’vod had been returned to him, Jango hadn’t wanted to leave her side for fear of her disappearing without him again. “I don’t know Buir, Beroya seems pretty shy and skittish, and he seems almost afraid of us, no idea why though. You’re gonna have to be gentle otherwise you’ll scare him off again.”

“Holy shit that’s adorable…” A quiet voice sounded from the crowd. “Time to re-evaluate my seduction plan…” The statement was met with murmurs of agreement and the sound of multiple scuffles breaking out over the right to approach the Beroya outside of the taskforce efforts.

“Hey! No injuries that bacta patches can't fix!” Jango hollered at the wrestling commandos. Idiots, Beroya would fall for his Buir, Jango would make sure of it. But first, Jango needed to bribe some of the younger Ade with candy or uj cake to spy on Ayet’s efforts to lure the Beroya to her own buir…

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“All right troops! Are you ready to commence the operation?” Ayet crowed, raising the sealed container of _Tiingilar_ that her Buir had helped her make over her head, “Have you all brought your donations to the war effort with you?”

Around her stood the other five Ade that _Beroya_ had rescued with her from Death Watch, each clutching sheets of flimsi in their chubby fingers.

“Alright troops! Present for inspection!” Ayet grinned, feeling a heavy thump against her armoured legs, and two tiny arms wrap around her waist. Ayet already knew who the culprit would be before she tilted her head down to look. Sonan grinned up at her with his gummy smile from his position at her waist. The little affection sponge had been stealing the hearts of any Haat’ade that came across his path by dive bombing them with hugs and his overwhelming _Ad’ika_ charm. Ayet knew for a fact that there was already some pretty intense competition over who would have the honour of adopting him into their clan, but at that point was still largely undecided.

The group of Ade stood to attention, mimicking the motions that they had seen their _Buire_ doing, holding out their flimsi for Ayet to look over.

_Perfect. Beroya won’t be able to resist this…_ Ayet grinned smugly to herself at the sight of what the Ade had drawn and written. All together, there were about fifteen drawings and letters from the children penned in messy scrawled crayon depicting _Beroya_ and thanking him for saving them.

“Congratulations troops, you all pass muster, add your donations to the war effort to the pool!” Ayet called, earning high cheers and squeals of excitement from the overjoyed Ade as they rushed to place their drawings and letters atop the container of _Tiingilar_. In the confusion, Ayet surreptitiously sneaked a message of her own within the pile.

“Now for the last step! I’m going to go and put this outside the camp, stay here kiddos!” Ayet crowed, hefting the weighty container and the letters under her arm before heading to the camp’s entrance, a skip in her step.

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_What is Ayet doing outside the camp?_ Din thought to himself incredulously from his perch atop the ridge overlooking the Haat’ade camp. He had heard the sound of fighting from a distance and had come to check whether Death Watch were raiding again, only to be met with the Haat’ade fighting amongst themselves. _I hope that whoever’s getting punished isn’t hurt too badly…_ Din mused with a grimace, but took comfort in that from what he had previously seen of the Haat’ade, they were unlikely to punish Ayet for straying out of the camp boundaries, given how much they seem to treasure Ade.

Under Din’s watchful gaze, Ayet moved out of sight of the camp then hefted a container above her head with one hand and waved enthusiastically in all directions with the other before placing the container down on the dusty ground and retreating back to camp.

Din felt his eyebrows raise under his helmet at the Ad’ika’s unusual behaviour. _That can’t be for me, can it?_ Din thought incredulously to himself.

After a couple of minutes of internal debate, Din finally gave in to his curious urges and went to retrieve the package.

Coming to a stop in front of the container, Din crouched down to get a better look at its contents. Peeling back the lid, Din was hit by a fragrant spicy scent. An intense feeling of nostalgia rose in his chest at the sight of the bright red stew. _Tiingilar… The last time I ate this was with my Buir…_ Lifting after confirming that the Tiingliar held no toxins (Not that Din thought it would, it was from Ade after all but it never hurt to be careful), Din resealed the container, lifting it off the sand only to stop in his tracks when several sheets of flimsi fluttered to the ground.

Hastily setting the Tiingliar aside and grabbing the flimsi before it could blow away in the lazy breeze, Din felt his eyes burn with tears as an emotion that he hadn’t felt since he lost Grogu welled in his chest. They were letters and drawings from the Ade that he had saved from Death Watch. But one of the notes stood out above the rest. It was written in a neater hand and signed by Ayet. The note's contents were generally the same as the others, but one line caught his eye and sent a wave of nervous apprehension down his spine. "My Buir will destroy you if you ask nicely". _What does that even mean? Is that a threat?_ Din shook his head and forcefully banished the thought from his mind, instead focussing on the gentle warmth inspired by the other Ade's messages and drawings. After reading each of them over at least four times each, Din folded them all carefully and gingerly stored them in his belt, making sure that the flimsy wasn’t creased. Din brought a gloved hand under his helmet to swipe at his eyes before cradling the warm container to his chest and retreated back into the wilds of Concord Dawn with his precious bounty. 

(A/N Edit: I can't believe I forgot to write Ayet's note omggg. See children, this is why you plan lol)

(A/N there should be an image here but I can't see it lolol)

Din didn’t notice the flash of a recording device from the direction that Ayet had left in…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please comment! Comments are my lifeblood! As always, if you spot any mistakes or have any suggestions, please tell me!
> 
> Ayyy, I've been informed that the image showed up last chapter! Yayyy! But I can't see it on my screen so tell me if the one in this chapter doesn't work and I'll drop the twitter link lolol. 
> 
> Aliit- Clan, Family  
> Tiingilar- spicy mandalorian stew/casserole  
> Beroya- Bounty hunter  
> Ad'ika- Child  
> Ad-Child  
> Ade-Children  
> Buir-Parent  
> Buire-Parents


	6. Cutting The Head Off Of The Snake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I know this chapter is a little early, but LanaIsDrawing made this fic fanart! I'm! I Can't even! I had to write another chapter today. I'm so overwhelmed!

“Hmmmm” Din hummed from his vantage point overlooking the mines. The amount of guards posted outside had doubled since the last time Din was there, and there was a lot more traffic in and out of the mine. Din had gotten lucky the last time he had infiltrated the mine, with his visit coincidentally overlapping the Haat’ade’s raid.  _ Looks like that information trade is off the table…  _ Din thought to himself, instead turning his scope to observe the old mining vessel behind the mine.

_ Hmmm, looks like that could work. It’s a little old but it looks like it still runs.  _ Nodding resolutely to himself, Din abandoned his initial plan of infiltrating the mines once again to complete gathering information to trade in exchange for passage to Tattoine. The mining vessel didn’t look all that safe, with the metal plates making up the hull rusting at the edges, but it was Din’s best option. Besides, Din flew the Razor Crest for years, he knows how to handle an older model ship.

Din turned his scope back down to the mine, contemplating his options. The entrance to the mine was situated at the base of a small rocky hill, the hilltop artificially flattened to create a small ship yard atop the mine. Right at the back of the ship yard, amongst a sizable pile of disused mining equipment and general refuse that Din assumed had been cleared out of the mine to make room for the Death Watch’s defences, sat the mining vessel.

_ Hmmm, looks like there’s four ways I could spin this. _ Din thought silently to himself,  _ Option one: I could jet over the mine directly to the ship.  _ Din looked at the amount of Death watch littering the dusty ground at the mine entrance, their number so large that they almost resembled ants swarming over an anthill.  _ Yeah no, that’s not an option. I would be shot out of the sky before I even reach the half way point. _

__

_ Option two: take the path leading around the entrance up to the shipyard. Hmmm, still no. Too much of a risk of being spotted. Option three: there’s probably an entrance to the shipyard somewhere inside the mine.  _ Din looked back down to the amount of Death Watch operatives milling about in the mine entrance.  _ Kriff no, that’s not happening. Looks like my only option is to take the long way round. _

__

Din stowed his scope away and stood up, mentally preparing himself for the long climb around the dusty hills to the back of the shipyard.

“Beroya?”

Din froze.

Slowly turning his head, Din came face to face with the woman that he had saved from the mines- Arla, the light of the setting sun glinting off of her obviously borrowed durasteel armour bucket clasped under her arm.  _ What?  _ “What are you doing here? Are you asking to get recaptured?” Din asked incredulously, already moving to usher her back down the ridge and out of sight of the mine.

“Wait, wait! What are  _ you  _ doing here?! You’re not going back in there alone are you? That’s suicide!” Arla exclaimed, letting herself be pushed along.

“What? No! You’re not going back in are you?” Din asked, borderline yelling through his vocoder. “you haven’t brought any of the Haat’ade with you have you?”

Arla stopped in her tracks, digging her heels into the dust and refusing to let Din push her any further. “What do you mean, ‘You haven’t brought any of the Haat’ade with you?’ Have you got a problem with them?” Arla asked incredulously, a dumbstruck expression on her face.

“No! They’re the ones that have a problem with me! They even sent me a threatening note saying that they would destroy me!” Din shoved harder at Arla’s shoulders, noting absentmindedly that her wounds had healed well.

“What note?” Arla shrugged Din’s hands off of her shoulders and turned to face him. “Do you still have it? Show me.”

“Ok, if it’ll get you to get back to safety.” Din rummaged in his belt before carefully pulling out the crisply folded flimsy, pressing it into Arla’s outstretched hand. “Don’t rip it.”

Arla sent him a look of pure derision as she unfolded the note. “As if I would- oh you di'kutla man. Have you ever had an actual social interaction with anyone that isn’t collecting a bounty? This isn’t a threat, it’s fl-“

“Ori’vod! Get down here! The raid’s start-Beroya!” Jango’s voice rang out through the air.

_ Kriff, she’s not alone! She brought a whole raid party! _

The sound of yells and blaster fire tore through the air as an explosion detonated so close to Din that he could feel the heat roll across his face.

_ Change of plan.  _ Din took off running down the ridge towards the shipyard, ignoring the yells of Arla and Jango behind him as he skidded down the steep slope. Din brought his braces up to protect his vulnerable neck against the stray blaster fire that hit the dusty ground behind him.

Din hit the ground running, moving a hand away from his neck to draw the blaster pistol at his hip and returning fire at the swarming Death Watch operatives that surged from the mine as if someone had kicked the ant hill. Tucking his head down deeper into the cradle of his arm, Din took off sprinting towards the shipyard.

Din had almost made it halfway to his goal when a large male Haat’ade in orange armour dropped to the ground in front of him in the midst of a brutal unarmed struggle against a member of Death Watch. Din barely slowed to slot the muzzle of his blaster under the Death Watch’s chin and fire, sending a blast through their skull, only stopping to kick a discarded blaster towards the stunned Haat’ade.

Keeping his arm up around his neck, Din continued on his sprint towards the mining vessel, feeling his legs burn with the strain, heavy breath crackling through his vocoder as the ship drew closer and closer.

Din had almost made it to the open entrance of the ship before a rage filled scream stopped him in his tracks. “ **YOU.”** A man’s voice boomed across the battlefield, accompanied by the metallic clang of beskar armour hitting the ground with the high whine of a jet pack. “You’re the one who’s been a thorn in my side. Prepare to die, scum!”

Din barely managed to throw himself to the side, avoiding a streak of darkness that gouged a deep gash in the hull of the ship. Scrambling back to his feet, Din was met with the same Mandalorian in pitch black armour that he had seen on the terminal in the mines. Instantly, the same whining static rose in Din’s ears, drowning out Vizsla’s rage filled screams, an intense wave of disgust and derision that felt separate to his own emotions washing over him. The darksaber at Din’s side began to heat up and vibrate as it did in the mine, before flying off of his belt and into his hand.

Vizsla raised his saber over his head in a brutal overhead strike, and Din instinctively activated the Darksaber in his hand, bringing the luminescent blade up to block Viszla’s strike. Somehow, the saber felt right in his hand, a pleasant warmth spreading from his fingertips up his arm. Din had never wielded a sword before, but surely it couldn’t be too different than a spear. Right? Din thought frantically to himself as he fumbled around blocking Vizsla’s almost manic strikes, arm beginning to go numb from the force behind Viszla’s blows, backing away as Viszla forced him back until his back hit a wall.

Out of space to retreat, Din looked around as much as he could out of his peripheral vision, keeping his eyes firmly locked on Vizsla. A grin of triumph crossed Din’s face as he spotted a pipe running across the wall of the maintenance bay he was pressed against. When Vizsla’s next strike fell, Din dodged to the side, the hissing of the darksaber as it cut through the wall like butter ringing in his ears. Before Vizsla could recover, Din hefted his saber and slashed the pipe, watching in satisfaction as hot steam blasted Vizsla back across the shipyard, the man’s agonized screams shorting out his vocoder with their sheer volume, the sizzling of heated beskar searing flesh seemed impossibly loud over the sounds of fighting below.

Before Vizsla could recover, Din strode forward and thrust his saber through the small gap in Vizsla’s black cuirass, felling the blade hit the man’s spine, then slice through it like a hot knife through butter.  _ Cut the head off the snake…  _ Din watched as the man’s muscles went lax, the life draining from Vizsla’s body. The darksaber clenched in Din’s hand hummed lowly in satisfaction, sending a fresh wave of warmth dancing through Din’s veins before it started to tug Din towards Vizsla’s lifeless body, like a two oppositely charged magnets.

_ No! I already have one, I don’t need another!  _ Din thought desperately, projecting his thoughts as hard as he could towards the Darksaber trying it’s best to drag Din to its twin. The Darksaber hummed louder, the increased vibrations almost making Din lose his grip on the hilt, before the now familiar sensation of two burning hot hands planted themselves on Din’s shoulder blades, shoving him so hard towards Vizsla’s corpse that Din’s feet almost left the ground.

“Ok, Ok fine!” Din leant forwards and snatched the second Darksaber off of the ground, sighing heavily at the heavy waves of satisfaction resonating from both sabers. “Ok! Now can we please go?” Din yelled as he turned back to the open hatch of the mining vessel.

“Beroya!”

_ What now?!  _ Din thought frantically as he turned his head to look over his shoulder and caught sight of Mereel, the Manda’lor of the Haat’ade himself touching down behind him.

“Wait!” Mereel took off in a sprint after Din.

_ Nope, not doing that.  _ Din thought borderline hysterically to himself as he turned on his heel and ran full tilt towards the mining vessel, the sight of a fully grown man in full armour running at full speed after him sending an instinctual shiver of fear down his spine. Shortly after he started running, both sabers radiated an intense feeling of disappointment, with both hilts attempting to tug Din backwards towards the Manda’lor. After an intense chase that only lasted a few seconds but felt like years, Din stumbled into the mining vessel, blindly throwing a hand out to the side to punch the hatch controls.

“Wait! Beroya! I need to t-“ Mereel’s voice was cut off by the hatch slamming shut in his face, the sound of beskar impacting durasteel vibrating through the air. After taking a moment to desperately draw in a few gasping breaths, Din flung the darksabers into depths of the ship’s cargo hold, the feeling of dissatisfaction fading into nothing. Wasting no more time, Din wobbled to the cockpit, and after taking a moment to situate himself and gain a grasp on the layout of the cockpit, Din brought the ship into a steady incline, lifting off of the ground. With one hand on the controls, Din brought up the ship’s holomap and began inputting the hyperspace calculations into the Ship’s navigator to take him to Tattoine.  _ Back to Boba. _

__

The dusty ground of Concord Dawn dropped away as Din increased the ship’s altitude, the tight ball of anxiety lodged in his chest at Mereel’s pursuit finally easing as Din left the battle behind. A sudden tapping on the glass of the cockpit screen sent Din jumping almost an entire foot in the air. Snapping his head to the side, Din caught sight of Mereel flying parallel to Din’s flight path, frantically waving his hands in the air for Din to stop as their eyes locked through their visors.

Luckily, Din finished inputting the calculations before Mereel could pull any weapons, and the harsh sunlight of Concord Dawn faded away into the soothing blue of hyperspace. Din collapsed into his chair like a puppet with its strings cut. He actually did it. He was finally going to see Boba, and he could apologise for losing his bounty and his ship…

Feeling the safest that he had felt in days, Din’s eyes involuntarily slid shut as he dropped off into an exhausted sleep…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please leave a comment, they motivate me to write more! And as always, If you spot any mistakes, or have any suggestions, please tell me!
> 
> D'ikutla- Stupid   
> Ori'vod- Big sibling  
> Beroya- Bounty hunter


	7. Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I listen to movie soundtracks while I write :)

_ CRASH! BANG! POP! _

__

Din startled awake from his dead sleep, almost rolling out of his pilot’s chair.  _ What in the-?  _ Din thought frantically to himself, fists already drawn up into a defensive position, guarding his neck and core.  _ What the hell was that? It can’t be an attack, the ship’s in hyperspace! And the ship looked fine enough to fly…  _ Din’s attention was drawn by a flashing red light on the mining vessel’s ancient console accompanied by an ear piercing beeping.

“Dank farrik!” Din cursed loudly “The hyperdive!” Scrambling out of his seat, Din stumbled out of the cockpit and into the cargo hold, eyes roving over the wall for the maintenance hatch.  _ Maybe if I fix the hyperdrive in time, I can still make it to Tattoine and not crash into a random sun!  _ Din gritted his teeth, the maintenance hatch nowhere in sight, until a subtle black glow from the corner of the cargo hold caught his eye.

Din ran as fast as he could towards the source of the light without crashing into the empty crates littering the cargo hold floor as the ship roiled beneath him like a sailboat at sea. The sight that met him shocked Din into a standstill as the ship shook apart around him.

There, on the floor of the cargo hold, sat the two darksabers that Din had flung aboard in his attempt to escape the Mand’alor Mereel. One saber was pressed against the maintenance hatch that housed the hyperdrive with the blade activated by the second hilt leaning against the switch. The dark blade slicing through the thick durasteel hatch and into the hyperdrive like a hot knife through butter. Ominous sparks flickered from the red-hot metal, dancing across the cargo hold flooring.

“What the kriff?!” Din borderline shouted to himself, darting forward and snatching up the two sabers, gritting his teeth at the intense smugness radiating off of both hilts. “If we crash into a sun in some random planet system, I’m blaming you!” Din hissed clipping both of the sabers to his belt. The hilts both vibrated in an odd staccato that felt oddly like laughter against his hip.

“I should have left you both on Concord Dawn!” Din groaned as he knelt to the floor to see what his odds of fixing the hyperdrive were.  _ And I’m talking to inanimate objects. I guess I am going insane…  _ Din shook his head at his damning thoughts. He can self-destruct later when there’s no risk of his ship careening head first into a star.

“Dank farrik!” Din hissed viciously. The hyperdrive had been sliced clean in half, molten metal hissing as it ate through the delicate wiring. There’s no way he’s fixing that. With no other options, Din stumbled back into the cockpit just as the mining vessel left hyperspace, the resulting jolt sending Din careening into the ship’s controls. The soothing blue light of hyperspace was replaced with the surface of a murky planet. The ship had emerged from hyperspace close enough to the planet that the mining vessel was caught in the planet’s gravitational pull, so Din had no choice but to try and slow his descent as much as he could in hopes of not becoming a new smear on the planet’s surface. Din engaged the thrusters, pulling up the steering controls as hard as he could, grunting in exertion at the resistance.

From his limited view out of the ship’s screen, Din could see the metal plating of the ship’s thrusters and hull igniting into flame as the mining vessel breached the planet’s atmosphere, the surface of the planet approaching fast. Din tugged as hard as he could at the controls, bracing himself for impact as the ship refused to pull up.

As the ship impacted the ground with a mighty crash, Din was thrown across the dashboard, helmet impacting the metal with a harsh thud. Din groaned as his head bounced off the front and back of his helmet, feeling trails of hot sticky blood running down his face and neck from the impact. The shrieking sound of warping metal tore through the cockpit at the ship skidded across the dirt, gouging a deep gash in the planet’s surface before coming to an eventual stop.

_ Ugh, where am I?  _ Din thought groggily to himself, bringing up the ship’s thankfully still working, nav. “Melida/Daan?”

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“That’s the last of them, Manda’lor.” Silas reported, as he dragged a struggling bound Death Watch member over to kneel with the rest of the surviving Death Watch. “The majority of Death Watch’s forces were here, Mand’alor, from what we found in the mines, it looks like they planned to launch an all out assault and scatter us before hunting us down one by one.” Silas pulled off his bucket and grinned viciously at the kneeling Death Watch. “Looks like it’s the other way around, huh?”

Jaster nodded from his seat on a stack of crates. “Good.” Jaster scanned the defeated Death Watch with satisfaction. “You said ‘mostly’, where are the rest of them, Silas?”

“Scattered, Mand’alor. Only a few skeleton crews manning various hidden bases around the sector, and a couple of cells of scouts. But we’ll find them soon enough with our slicers working on their systems.” Silas jerked his head to the side in the direction of the mine. “It’s only a matter of time.”

“Good work Silas, get some rest” Jaster ordered, watching as his officer nodded and retreated back to their temporary camp just outside of the borders of the mine. They had finally done it. The Haat’ade had defeated Death Watch at last. Jaster sat back on the crates with a weary sigh, the Beroya’s terrified scrambling onto the mining vessel left a sour taste in the back of his mouth. Surely he didn’t think that Jaster was going to hurt him? Right? The Beroya had only done things to help him and his people, including saving his Ade and providing essential intel that led to Death Watch’s defeat. What had happened to him to make him think that Jaster would hurt him for just trying to help?

Jaster’s thoughts on the Beroya shifted to the fight he had witnessed against Tor Vizsla. Where in the world had another Darksaber come from?! Tarre Vizsla had only wielded one, right? Jaster mused to himself, a warm haze of arousal settling in the pit of his stomach as he remembered how the Beroya had duelled Vizsla, and taken his Darksaber after he had won.  _ Mandokarla… _

__

But the faint stirrings of arousal faded once the implications of Beroya's fight sank in. Jaster, in his people’s eyes, was still very much Mand’alor. Unlike Vizsla, who only had a claim to the title after the raid on the Jedi temple and the retrieval of the darksaber that he had taken by force, Jaster held the title by the collective will of his people, and the Manda sang with pleasure in his veins when his people referred to him as Manda’lor. But now that the Beroya held two Darksabers, what does that mean for the Beroya? Does that make him double Mand’alor? Could there be two Mand’alors at the same time?...

“Buir!” Arla’s voice rang out over the hustle and bustle of the mine, jolting Jaster out of his thoughts as his Ad jogged lightly over to Jaster, a sheet of flimsi clutched in her hand. “ _ Buir _ , where’s  _ Beroya _ ?!” Arla came to a stop, panting slightly as she waved the flimsi in the air.

“Slow down, Ad’ika. What’s wrong?” Jaster asked, dumbfounded, but already moving to soothe his Ad.

“ _ Beroya _ has the wrong idea about us! Look at this note, what do you see?” Arla thrust the flimsi into Jaster’s hands, urging him to read.

As his eyes scanned the note, Jaster’s eyebrows raised involuntarily. “I see a very aggressive courting offer made on the behalf of Rhydor by his Ad.” Jaster snorted “ _ Very  _ aggressive.”

“That’s the problem! I  _ told _ you to be gentle! He told me that he thinks it’s a threat!” Arla threw her hands up in exasperation. “Now look what’s happened! He’s ran away because he thinks we’re going to destroy him! And not in the fun way! Which direction did he go? I’ll have Jango take the taskforce and follow him. Maybe he’s scoping our camp out again.”

Jaster grimaced, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Uh, about that…” Jaster gestured to the empty spot in the shipyard where the old beat up mining vessel used to sit. “I maybe sort of tried to talk to him and he got in a ship and flew away…”

“What?! How am I supposed to pay my life-debt to him if we can’t find him?!” Arla ran a gloved hand down her face with a heavy sigh. “At least we have  _ some _ good news…”

“Good news?” Jaster asked, perplexed. What good news could possibly have come from driving  _ Beroya _ away?

Arla snorted. “I guess you haven’t seen the video that Ayet has been circulating over the Haat’ade network then?” Arla shook her head and plucked a data pad out of a passing commando’s arms. “You’ll love this.”

After a couple of seconds of fiddling, Arla pulled up a video and handed over the ‘pad to Jaster. Immediately, the image of  _ Beroya  _ crouched in the dust just outside of the Haat’ade camp caught his eye. On the ground in front of him was a container full of red-  _ Is that Tiingilar?  _ Jaster thought dumbfoundedly to himself.  _ Were the Ade trying to lure Beroya in with food like a feral Tooka with food?  _ Jaster silently shook his head.  _ That would never work, Beroya is obviously a hardened warrior who would only respect displays of traditional courting through displays of strength and-  _ Jaster’s thoughts shorted out as  _ Beroya _ picked up and read through several sheets of flimsi, swiping under his helmet as if to wipe away tears, before carefully folding and storing the notes in his belt. Beroya then climbed to his feet and clutched the container tightly to his chest as if someone was going to take it away from him, then walked off screen, rubbing the steaming container against his chest, likely taking comfort in its soft warmth.

Once the video ended, Jaster stood stock still, conflicting emotions warring in his chest, the most prominent being:  _ Kriffing hell that was the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen, I want to hug him.  _ And,  _ We’ve been going about this all wrong. _

__

Jaster was jolted out of his warring thoughts when Arla reached forward and took the data pad out of Jaster’s slack hands. “Do you see what I mean now? I don’t think he was raised in the same way we were.” Arla started the video again for herself.

Jaster nodded in response to his Ad’s question. “I do, I’m going to have to thank Ayet for this insight.” Jaster snorted as he reread the flimsi note still grasped in his hand. “Although, I’m going to have to have a talk with her about sending courting notes on her  _ Buir’s _ behalf without his knowledge. I doubt he’s happy about that.”

A wry chuckle escaped Arla’s chest at Jaster’s words. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,  _ Buir _ .” Arla gestured off to the side with the data pad, and when Jaster followed her hand, he was met with the sight of Rhydor, his orange  _ beskar’gam _ carbon scored to hell and back talking to a group of mesmerised Haat’ade, his large arms gesticulating wildly.

“ _ Beroya _ saved his life during the conflict, and I think he’s even more smitten than he was before when  _ Beroya _ saved his Ad from Death Watch.” Arla shook her head with a snort. “And that’s saying something. If anything, He’d probably thank her if it hadn’t spooked  _ Beroya _ so much.”

A strangled laugh escaped his chest at his Ad’s words. “Knowing him, he probably would.” Letting out a heavy sigh, Jaster turned and looked in the direction that Beroya’s ship had disappeared into hyperspace. “Once we find him, we’re going to have to approach this more delicately. If he’s not used to the Mandalorian courting process, we’re going to have to be gentler than we usually would, the usual posturing and displays of strength can come later when he’s more comfortable with us.”

Arla nodded along in agreement. “Agreed. But we have to find him first. I’ll tell Jango to have the Taskforce listen out for any tips from scattered Haat’ade.” Arla placed her hand on Jaster’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Buir. We’ll find him and repay our life debts.” Arla turned on her heel and started to walk away, fixated on the looped video on the data pad. “Then you can tame your feral Tooka!” She exclaimed cheerfully before disappearing around a corner.

Jaster sputtered at his Ad’s parting words, cheeks stained red.

“Buir! Come quickly! We have a problem!”

Jaster startled, he hadn’t heard his son sound that angry and distressed since his Buire had died at the hands of Death Watch a few years ago. Jaster walked as fast as he could to the edge of the temporary Haat’ade camp and was met with the sight of a crowd of at least thirty of his commandos tightly packed together, helmets tilted down to look at something close to the ground. Weaving his way through the crowd, Jaster almost tripped over the kneeling form of Montross.

“Wha- Montross?” Jaster raised his eyes to Jango and Myles, Myles was holding Montross’ arms tightly behind his back, leaning his body weight into Montross’ shoulders to quell his frantic struggling.

“Buir.” Jango muttered from his place beside Myles, a holodisk clenched tightly in his gloved hand. “We found Montross trying to sneak past his guards with this.” Jango waved the disk around lightly. “It’s records of all of our strategy meetings that we’ve had in the past month, and we think he was regularly supplying Vizsla with them, judging by the stock pile we found in the mines.”

Jango’s words sent a ripple of shock and outrage through the gathered Haat’ade, rageful shouts and accusations filling the air.

“Traitor!”

“Death Watch scum!”

“How dare you?!”

Jaster held up a single hand, and instantly, his commandos went silent. “What do you say to these accusations, Montross?” Jaster asked, expression stony.

Montross spat on the ground at Jaster’s feet, derision twisting his features into a grotesque snarl. “Yes. It’s all true ‘Mand’alor’.” Montross spat out Jaster’s title like it was a dirty curse word. “You’re not fit to be Mand’alor when you pass your title to your pathetic son instead of me. Me! Your second in command who has proved himself worthy of the crown hundreds of times during our years together. But did you see that? NO!” Montross’ volume increased the more he talked, until he was screaming by the end of his impromptu speech.

Jaster stepped back, ignoring the horrific mix of emotions rising in his chest. Anger at himself for not seeing Montross’ malcontent, and grief at losing his once friend. “I think I’ve heard enough. If you want to work with Death Watch so badly, you can be treated like one.”

At Jaster’s words, Myles yanked Montross to his feet, slapping a pair of cuffs over his wrists before shoving him down to kneel with the rest of the captured Death Watch members.

Jaster had to close his eyes and look away from what used to be one of his closest friends being treated like the traitor he was, a bone deep weariness rising in his chest. Jaster shook his head harshly from side to side, banishing any lingering feelings of regret.

_ We cut the head off the snake today. The end of the civil war is finally in sight… _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! Comments provide me with the will to live lmaooo. As always, if you have any suggestions or spot any mistakes please tell me!
> 
> Ad- Child  
> Beroya- Bounty hunter  
> Ad'ika- Child  
> Ade- Children  
> Buir- Parent  
> Buire- Parents


	8. Time Travel?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: my phone lock and home screen is LanaIsDrawing 's art of Din and Jaster's Keldabe kiss
> 
> Oh, and I'd just like to add that the plot of this fic is very much in flux, and any and all suggestions are welcomed and appreciated!

Din hissed in pain as tacky trails of blood escaped from beneath his helmet and soaked into the neck of his kute, the stained cloth sticking to the sensitive skin of his neck. Din ran a cautious hand under his helmet, tracing the edges of the tear in his skin above his eyebrow. _Hmmm, no dizziness or nausea, doesn’t feel like a concussion._ Din mused to himself, ignoring the sharp pain shooting down his neck and into his shoulders. _The wound doesn’t feel deep enough to need cauterising, and I’m sure as hell not wasting bacta, if this ship even has any._

The darksabers at his side hummed in dissatisfaction. An odd sensation that Din wilfully ignored. There was no way that the damaged hyperdrive was a coincidence, and Din was not going to afford any strangely humming inanimate object the time of day if they were going to actively sabotage him. Kriff, the only reason Din currently had the darksabers attached to his belt and hidden under his cloak was to stop anymore ‘coincidences’ from happening while he wasn’t around to watch them, though he would much rather throw the darksabers into a dark corner and forget about them.

Din had no idea where all of the strange Mandalorians on Concord Dawn had come from, especially being out in the open like they were. They all seemed to know each other well so they had to be from the same covert, but Din had no knowledge of any coverts that large after the Empire’s purge. And Din had _definitely_ not heard of any other Mandalorians claiming to be the ‘one true ruler’- Mand’alor- other than Bo-Katan’s measly efforts to retrieve the Darksaber from Moff Gideon. _Is the covert’s information network that weak?_ Din thought to himself incredulously. If Din’s covert ever reconvened after being scattered on Nevarro, he’d have to work closely with the Armourer to rectify that. A slick ball of shame formed in the pit of his stomach and clung to his lungs like cloying oil. He had broken his creed and removed his helmet. He had no place amongst his covert anymore. And if he did, he didn’t deserve it…

Din shook his head, banishing the thoughts from his mind. He had more pressing issues to worry about than his own self-pity. A quick glance at the mining vessel’s dashboard and all of it’s blinking red lights made it painfully obvious that Din didn’t have the necessary tools to fix all of the damage caused by the crash. _Not to mention the hyperdrive that was split in half._ Din levelled a withering glare at the darksabers on his belt. “Leaking supply line, breached hull, smashed cockpit glass, damaged landing gear, crushed thrusters…” Din mumbled to himself as he scanned the flashing warning lights. _There’s no way this thing is flying again, even if I did find the tools…_

Din resigned himself to finding a different path to Tattoine. “Well, at least the atmosphere is breathable, with the breach in the hull, I would have suffocated to death already if it wasn’t.” The corner of Din’s lips quirked sardonically at his own dry humour.

Gathering his wits about him, Din rose from the pilot’s chair and prepared to scout out the immediate area for passage to Tattoine.

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“The efforts to stamp out the remnants of Death Watch are proceeding as planned, Mand’alor.”

Jaster nodded in satisfaction as he listened to his new second’s- Silas’s- Report.

“The majority of the Death Watch scouts on Concord Dawn surrendered once word of Tor Vizsla’s death permeated amongst their ranks, and those that haven’t are few and scattered across the sector.” Silas tilted his bucket to look at the red coloured dots scattered across the temporary command tent’s holomap. “We estimate that the remaining active Death Watch operatives don’t possess enough troops or munitions to be a significant threat. We’ve ascertained that the majority of the Death Watch remnants are hiding out on Galidraan.” Silas zoomed the holomap out to show the entirety of the outer rim before pointing to the Galidraan sector.

“Good work, Silas.” Jaster praised. He had made the right decision in choosing Silas as his new second. The man had been a steadfast friend both throughout and before Jaster’s time as Mand’alor, and he was both trustworthy and reliable. Silas had picked up Montross’ slack gracefully and the command of the Haat’ade ran smoother than it had ever before.

Just as Jaster was about to dismiss Silas, his second cleared his throat and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Mand’alor. May I speak freely?” 

Jaster raised a single brow behind his bucket. “You know you don’t have to ask, Silas. None of you do.”

Silas nodded with slightly more force than necessary in reply. “I know that, Mand’alor.” Jaster watched Silas visibly steel himself, his second straightening his spine and setting his shoulders. “you do know that the Haat’ade still consider you to be our Mand’alor, right? Beroya may have won the Darksaber from Vizsla in combat, but he has no desire to lead us. He probably had no choice but to kill Vizsla or he would have perished on that battlefield.” Silas shook his head in grim amusement. “He may be Mandokarla. Kriff he’s karking Mandokarla in _spades_. But he’s not our Mand’alor. That honour falls solely to you, Jaster.” Silas bowed his head in reverence.

Jaster felt an overwhelming surge of emotion close up his throat at his people’s trust and devotion to him as Mand’alor. Their trust and devotion to plain-old Jaster who has no grand plan like Vizsla or Kryze, but only wanted to keep his people and his Ade safe…

Jaster nodded gratefully back at his second, not attempting to speak through the emotion clogging his throat for fear of his voice cracking embarrassingly. His Haat’ade would never let him live it down.

“Speaking of Kryze, we intercepted a transmission from Mandalore to the senate last night.” Silas continued with his report as if nothing had happened, any lingering awkwardness and embarrassment disappearing as if their little heart to heart had never happened. “Now that they are without their leader, the remnants of Death Watch are targeting Adonai Kryze and his family pretty hard. We think that he may start requesting the help of the Jedi soon, since as pacifists, they won’t lift a blaster without a stun setting to defend themselves”

Jaster sighed, bringing up a hand to rub reflexively at the back of his neck, a weary sigh escaping his chest. “If Kryze brings the Jedi into this mess of a civil war, they’re bound to side with Kryze and his pacifistic beliefs, even if it leads to he cultural genocide of out people.” Jaster turned back to his second and locked eyes with Silas through his tinted visor. “We need to deal with the Death Watch targeting the Kryze family before the Jedi arrive and take their side against us. Get me a secure call to Kryze”

Jaster and Silas both leant over the holomap and began discussing their options…

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A few hours later saw Jaster exiting the command tent, a bone deep exhaustion dragging at his bones. After an intense round of discussion and debate, Jaster had finally managed to secure an agreement with the Duke for arranging peace talks after wasting the majority of the comm call arguing over the nuances of cultural genocide. The Haat’ade and the New Mandalorians were due to meet on Mandalore in a month to discuss the removal of the remaining Death Watch remnants and do (hopefully) reach a compromise between their two factions regarding the direction that the civil war would take.

Jaster personally was not looking forward to the talks, firstly because Kryze had refused to meet unless Jaster and any other Haat’ade he brought with him agreed to only bring blasters capable of stunning, but Jaster was slightly mollified at the loophole that didn’t prohibit him from bringing any blades, though he wasn’t going to enjoy the fallout if Kryze ever caught wind that he and his commandos were carrying a mini-arsenal of vibro-blades hidden on their person. _Eh, it’s not a problem if we don’t get caught._ Jaster thought to himself, dismissing the thought.

The other reason why Jaster was not looking forward to the talks with Kryze was that New Mandalorians tended towards backhanded insults hidden behind a friendly veneer. This was not the way of the Haat’ade and Jaster was dreading having to hold back his commandos from tearing the New Mandalorians a new one after they took their insults too far without backing them up with strength.

_Ugh, I don’t have to think about it yet, so I won’t._ Jaster thought resignedly to himself, banishing his thoughts of Kryze and his exhausting pacifistic faction.

As soon as Jaster walked out of the tent, he was hit with a veritable wall of delicious scents. Jaster’s mouth began to water. _What in the…?_ Not many of his Haat’ade had bothered to cook while posted on Concord Dawn, instead preferring to choke down freeze dried ration packs in case of a sudden Death Watch attack.

Scanning his eyes over the temporary camp outside of the mines, Jaster was met with the sight of several makeshift cooking stations scattered within the bounds of the camp where at least twenty Haat’ade were cooking various Mandalorian delicacies. Jaster’s stomach began to growl at the sight of the vast array of Ori’skraan. Tingilaar,, Uj cake, Gihaal, and Gi dumpling soup being a few choice dishes amongst the spread.

Baffled, Jaster grabbed the attention of the closest cooking Haat’ade, Rhydor. “What’s going on out here?”

Rhydor startled, so absorbed in mixing his Uj cake batter that he hadn’t noticed Jaster’s approach, tiny flecks of batter splattering out of the bowl and peppering Rhydor’s frilly pink apron that was layered over the top of his battle scored beskar’gam. “Mand’alor! I didn’t hear you coming!” Rhydor’s normally deep smooth voice an entire octave higher as he set his bowl to the side. “I’m surprised that you don’t know, sir. I’m sure you’ve seen the video of the Beroya with my Tingilaar by now- “

“I think you mean ‘feral Tooka’, Vod!” A nearby commando guffawed, waving her wooden spoon through the air so vigorously that drops of Gi dumpling soup spattered across the dusty earth. “We’re practicing, Mand’alor! Whoever cooks the best food gets the honour of making the first offering!”

“Yeah! Rhydor here thinks that since it was his Tingilaar starring in the Tooka video, he’s got the best chance, but we’re here to prove him wrong!”

Jaster chuckled, the warm laughter chasing away the lingering weariness left from the negotiations. The sound echoed across the camp, drawing the attention of all the Haat’ade milling around outside. “Guess I’ve gotta get cooking then!” A split second of silence, then a deafening cheer rose up from the crowd of cooking commandos.

“That’s the spirit, Mand’alor!”

“Don’t think we’ve forgotten your courting declaration!”

“You’ve gotta get judged too! You might have first dibs as our Mand’alor but you’re all about equality, right?”

Jaster joined in with the delighted cheers of his Haat’ade, moving to accept an offered apron.

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Din sighed as the hatch of the ship only opened halfway before jamming to a halt about two metres off of the ground. With a cautious jump, Din’s boots met the cracked cement of the planet- Melida/Daan below.

Getting his bearings, Din surveyed the landscape around him. His ship seemed to have crashed right in the centre of an abandoned city, the nose of the ship crumpled against a collapsed building. Din’s hackles began to rise as more red flags were raised the longer he looked. Numerous doors looked to have been kicked off of their hinges, burn marks- likely from grenades- scored the cement walls of the tall buildings in the streets, furniture had been looted from the surrounding buildings and piled in the middle of the street in a makeshift barricade. Judging from the blaster burns marring the wooden furniture, the fighting had been recent, a week at the oldest.

The oppressive silence of the streets had Din’s hand twitching closer to the blaster pistol holstered at his hip. Din’s shoulders jolted and he reflexively drew his blaster as a sheet of flimsi carried by the wind folded itself over his helmet, obscuring his visor.

Muttering in annoyance at himself and his own hypervigilance, Din holstered his blaster and peeled the flimsi from his helmet and brought it away from his face so that he could read it. The flimsi looked to be some sort of recruitment poster for a militaristic group called the Daan, with a large picture of a group of adults facing away from the camera with one arm over each other’s shoulders and their other pointing blaster rifles at the sky. The words ‘Protect our heritage! Join the Daan today!” were emblazoned in eye catching red across the bottom of the page.

Din scoffed to himself. It was just his luck that he had crash landed on a planet with an active civil war raging on. _Well, not luck._ Din mused, glaring down at the innocently silent Darksaber hilts. Though how an inanimate object managed to look innocent, Din had no idea.

Din was about to toss the flimsi back onto the cracked ground before his eyes caught the date at the top of the page. Din felt his stomach tighten as his heart stopped in his chest. 947 _…ARR?_ It took a second for the implications of his situation to sink in, the flimsi slipping from his lax fingers and fluttering weakly to the ground. 947ARR _… That can’t be right…_ Din frantically scanned his eyes over the page of flimsi once more, stomach dropping to his feet when he saw that the flimsi didn’t display any signs of age. 

Din felt his strength leave him, his legs folding like wet flimsy, the sound of beskar impacting concrete echoing down the empty streets. 947ARR _… Is that what this thing did? Fling me back?..._ Din dug around in his belt, fishing out the carved stone artefact that Boba’s bounty had pressed into his hand. _Boba…_

Din felt tears burn at his eyes and streak down his cheeks before dripping off of his chin and splashing against the ground, darkening the bone dry concrete. _Boba and Fennec were all I had left… I can’t…_ Din felt his breath come faster, vocoder cackling as panic sharpened his thoughts. He was alone again. First his covert, then Grogu, now Boba… _It’s my fault… Everyone I cared about is gone._ Din’s breath bordered on hyperventilation as breathless sobs tore from his throat, and his fingernails itched to scratch at his own skin in his panic, digging into his kute between the beskar plates on his upper arms.

_What do I do now?! I can’t take any bounties, I can’t go to my friends, I can’t find my son… Everybody I cared about doesn’t even exist, the covert hasn’t even been founded! I’m not supposed to exist…_ “Boba’s not waiting for me on Tattoine…” Din gasped out between his sobs.

“Arghhhh!”

The shrill sound of a child in pain tore through the stagnant air, shocking Din out of his spiralling panic, head snapping towards the direction of the agonised scream.

Straightening from his pathetic slump, Din rose to his feet with the grace of a predator, hand already straying to his blaster.

Din bared his teeth behind his helmet in a feral snarl, tear tracks drying on his cheeks. _I know what I have to do…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please comment! Comments are my life-blood!
> 
> Vod- sibling  
> Kute- undersuit  
> Ori'skraan- a delicacy, a real treat in terms of food; 2 a blow-out meal, a feast  
> Tingilaar- super spicy Mandalorian stew/ casserole  
> Gihaal- Dried fishmeal mixture  
> Gi Dumpling Soup- Mandalorian soup with fish dumplings  
> Uj Cake- Dense and super sweet mandalorian cake made with fruit and nuts


	9. The Game Is On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: This chapter was absolute hell to write and I have no idea why

_ I know what I have to do… _

__

Din ignored the tear tracks drying on his face and drew the blaster pistol holstered at his hip. With his free hand, Din reached his hand up to the side of his helmet and activated his HUD’s heat vision mode.

Scanning the immediate area, Din growled when his HUD picked up three figures lit up red about thirty metres down the street, pointing what looked to be blaster rifles at a downed Ad’ika. “Why is it that every planet I end up on in this time has karking Demagolka on it?” Din growled lowly to himself.

Judging by the heat signatures and the lack of blue spots against their warm clothing displayed on Din’s HUD, the Demagolka were not wearing any armour, instead wearing only flimsy cloth clothes. There seemed to be no need for stealth either, as all three Demagolka seemed to not realise that they still had the safety engaged on their rifles. Din nodded to himself in satisfaction as aimed his blaster pistol at the first attacker’s temple.  _ Good, no need to scare the Ad’ika any more than necessary by spilling their blood. The blaster will cauterise their wounds. _

Din made quick work of the first of the three, taking a clear shot through their temple. Din took great satisfaction in watching the two remaining Demagolka fumble with their weapons, confused as to why they weren’t firing when they pulled the trigger. Seeing their chance, the Ad’ika attempted to crawl their way backwards and away from their attackers, tiny involuntary grunts and whimpers escaping through his clenched teeth.

_ Why isn’t he running…?  _ Din thought to himself worriedly, absent-mindedly taking out the remaining two Demagolka. After scanning the immediate area and finding no other heat signatures, Din switched off his HUD’s heat vision. Immediately, Din’s eyes were drawn to the Adika’s left leg, which was dragging along the ground behind them, bent at an unnatural angle, the knobbly knee visible through the child’s ripped pants beginning to swell and turn an ugly purple. An almost inhuman growl escaped Din’s chest as his previous rage returned tenfold.  _ Dank farrik! I shouldn’t have killed them so quickly!  _ Din snarled to himself as he holstered his pistol.

Taking a deep breath, Din forcibly shoved the rising anger back down as deep into himself as he could.  _ If the Ad’ika sees my anger, it will only scare him more…  _ Din forced his tense muscles to relax and moulded his body into an open and loose stance and deliberately made his footsteps clearly audible as he approached, hands held palms up in the air as he discretely kept his ear out for any approaching reinforcements.

The Ad’ika’s head snapped up at the sound of Din’s approaching footsteps, before he attempted to lunge across the cracked concrete towards the closest of the Demagolka’s discarded blasters. Before the Ad’ika could reach the rifle the sudden movement jostled their injured leg, and the child collapsed onto their belly, arm still outstretched towards the weapon.

Din forcibly halted his instinctive move to rush to the injured Ad’ika, instead stopping his slow advance and kneeling carefully on the ground, keeping his hands raised in the air. “Hey, hey, shhhh. It’s ok, it’s ok. I’m not going to hurt you, see?” Din's voice was so soft that his vocoder almost didn’t pick up his soothing tones as he slowly and smoothly stripped himself of all his visible weapons until his blaster pistol, disruptor rifle, and spear lay innocently on the ground between them. The darksabers hidden under his cloak hummed so violently that they threatened to make the beskar they were pressed against sing with their rapid movement.

The Ad’ika’s narrowed electric blue eyes tracked Din’s movements with suspicion, head cocked to the side as their grimy blonde hair that looked like it had once might have been curly hung limply over his face.

“Are you Melida or Daan?” The Ad’ika croaked, voice scratchy with dehydration and wobbly with adrenaline.

Din shook his head softly, heart breaking silently at the condition of the child. Their pallid skin was stretched thin across their bones, stomach stuck to his spine with hunger. Cheeks that should have been round and glowing healthily were sallow and sunken into his face, making him appear almost skeleton like. “Neither. Did you see a ship crash about twenty minutes ago?” Din asked softly, returning his hands to their position in the air as the child nodded slowly, the vivid blue veins in their neck standing out underneath their paper thin skin, eyes not leaving Din’s raised hands. The Ad’ika’s suspicious wariness sent Din’s stomach plummeting to the bottom of his boots.  _ I look nothing like those Demagolka. They do not wear Mandalorian armour. What exactly is happening on this planet that makes kids so scared of any adult they see that they reach for the closest weapon…? _

__

“That was me. I’m not from here. Can you tell me what’s happening? Why were those people trying to hurt you?” Din asked, shifting from his kneeling position to sit cross legged on the ground.

Din panicked as the child’s blue eyes grew glassy with tears. “T-They’re the E-Elders.” The Ad’ika spoke as best he could around his wobbling lower lip as he visibly held back his tears. “T-The Elders like f-fighting too mu-much to stop by them-themselves. So we ah-are trying to ma-hake them stop.” The child’s breath began to hitch.

“We?” Din asked, confused. “Are you and your parents part of a rebellion?”

The Ad’ika burst into hysterical tears, their wailing cries echoing off of the empty buildings around them, lifting a shaky hand to point at two of the fallen Demagolka. “Those  _ were  _ my parents!”

Unable to hold himself back, Din launched himself across the space between him and the distressed Ad’ika, drawing their shaking form into his arms and making soft hushing noises as he rocked them gently from side to side. Din avoided jostling their injured leg as he struggled to let his burning fury show in his voice.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s ok, you’re safe now, you’re safe.” Din felt tiny fingers curl into his kute between his beskar plates, the child curling into his arms as much as he could without moving his twisted leg.

After a few minutes of holding the child, the kid’s gasping breathing eventually calmed down into deep breaths with the occasional hiccup, muscles lax with after the intense catharsis. Din stroked his glove hand over the child’s greasy locks, rumbling soothingly so deep in his chest that it almost resembled a purr. “Do you want to come back to my ship with me and help me look for some bacta?”

The child sniffled softly, clinging tightly to Din’s armour and tucking their face into Din’s neck with a tiny nod that Din felt more than saw.

Din swung the kid up into his arms as smoothly as he could, keeping a hand braced against the Ad’ika’s purpling knee “Alright then kid, let’s go on an adventure…”

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Ayet groaned from her position sprawled across the ground like a starfish, one hand cradling her belly as she held out a hand at the Haat’ade commando offering a slice of their hand made Uj cake. “Please no more. I can’t take any more! Get someone else to judge!” Ayet pleaded, a chorus of raucous laughter rising from the gathered Haat’ade participating in the impromptu cooking competition. “What have my sins wrought?” Ayet flopped an arm dramatically across her face.

“Ugh, I’m going back to my tent.” Ayet grumbled, rolling to her feet and trudging through the heavy throng of Haat’ade towards her tent. Ayet admired the countless stars dotting the night sky, connecting the dots between them to create imaginary mythosaurs dancing across the sky.

Just as Ayet had a hand on the tent flap, the sound of a throat clearing behind her startled Ayet into jumping almost a complete foot in the air as she let out a shrill shriek.

A warm chuckle sounded behind her as a solid hand clapped her on the shoulder. “I’m sorry Ad’ika, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The familiar voice prompted Ayet to spin around, ignoring her stuffed stomach’s protests at the sudden movement. “Mand’alor! I didn’t hear you coming!”  _ Seriously? How can a man in fully beskar be so quiet? _

__

Her Mand’alor stood nonchalantly behind her, arms crossed loosely over his chest as her Buir approached them from across the camp.

“Mand’alor, did you need to speak with Ayet? Would you like to come in?” Ayet’s Buir asked, head tilted to the side in obvious confusion.

The Mand’alor nodded with a smile, his bucket cradled under his arm. “That would be great, thank you Rhydor. And I’ve told you both before, call me Jaster outside of official business.” Jaster’s warm brown eyes sparkled with mirth.

Ayet held the tent flaps open for the Ma-Jaster and her Buir to enter the tent, before following after them. Ayet felt the faint gnawing sensation of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. What had she done that had warranted the Mand’alor himself paying her a personal visit? Ayet hadn’t even pulled any pranks since she had come to Concord Dawn a month ago with her Buir!

“It’s all right, Ad’ika. You’re not in trouble.” Th-Jaster said, laugh lines crinkling around his eyes with fond amusement.

_ That doesn’t help!  _ Ayet thought frantically, the faint gnawing sensation strengthening into full on butterflies.

Jaster shook his head, a soft puff of air escaping his nose, before pulling out a  _ very  _ familiar sheet of flimsy.

“This is yours, isn’t it?” Jaster asked softly, holding out the note for Ayet to take.

Ayet gulped as she reached out a hand to accept the letter.  _ The Loth Cat’s out the bag… _

__

“Now, Ad’ika, I know you meant well, but you’ve got to tone it down, Ad.” Jaster settled his hands on Ayet’s shoulders, the Mand’alor’s warmth soaking through her beskar’gam and chasing away the night time chill. “Beroya needs a softer touch. From what we’ve seen of him so far, we believe him to have acute battle exhaustion, so we think that he might take strong advances like that as a threat.”

The butterflies in Ayet’s stomach morphed into burning shame. “I-If Beroya took my note as a threat, does that mean he left because of me?” Ayet stuttered, eyes burning with unshed tears.  _ Is it my fault that Beroya is scared of us…? _

Jaster’s eyes softened impossibly more, the Mand’alor’s face pulling into a gentle smile before he pulled Ayet against his chest in a warm hug. “It’s Ok, Ad’ika, you weren’t to know.” Jaster’s soft smile grew, a mischievous glint entering his eyes. “It’s because of your note that we know to approach with caution, so we should be thanking you! Besides, I believe that it’s you we have to thank for the feast tonight.” Jaster tugged Ayet into a joking headlock, rubbing his knuckles between her Iekku, forcing Ayet to release a series of unattractive snorts.

Ayet’s Buir slipped his helmet off of his head, the yellow markings on his dark skin almost invisible in the flickering lamplight. With one hand pushing his long dreadlocks out of his face, Ayet’s Buir reached out his other arm to heft her over his broad shoulders one handed, Ayet squealing the whole way, legs kicking uselessly in the air.

“That’s right Ad! You don’t think that your Buir’s got courting game?” Ayet’s Buir flung her up in the air before catching her in her arms again. “I’ll have you know that my good looks and shining personality have left many a broken heart in my wake!”

“Buiiiir!” Ayet giggled, all lingering shame dissipating at her Buir’s antics and Jaster’s fond grin. “Buir! Put me down! I’m fourteen already I’m too old for your Ik’aad stuff!” Ayet beat her fists uselessly against her Buir’s broad back, feeling his deep chuckle vibrate through her stomach where it was pressed to his shoulders as he finally lowered Ayet to the floor.

The sound of soft footsteps outside of her and her Buir’s tent interrupted Ayet’s attempts at gaining her bearings after the wild roller coaster ride on her Buir’s shoulders. “Ori’vod?” a tentative voice called from the tent boundaries.

“Wh- Sonan? What are you doing here?” Ayet asked, perplexed as she pulled back the tent flaps. “Did you need some-oof!” Ayet tumbled backwards onto her Buir’s bedroll as Sonan attached himself to her legs like a limpet, arms winding around her waist like a steel band.

“You felt sad. So I came to make you not sad!” Sonan grinned his wide gap toothed smile up at her from his position on Ayet’s stomach, before digging his fingers into Ayet’s sides between her beskar plating.

Jaster gracefully manouvered his way around the two’s flailing limbs before crouching at Ayet and Sonan’s side, stroking a gloved hand between the Zabrak Ad’s horns. “What do you mean she ‘felt sad’, Ad’ika?”

Sonan paused his tickle attack to give Jaster a wide smile, bringing up a pudgy hand to point at the black markings on his face. “Mother told me to always listen to my feelings, and the feelings told me that Ayet Ori’vod was sad! So I came to make her not sad!” Sonan slapped a hand lightly against Ayet’s flushed grinning face. “See! Not sad!”

Ayet didn’t notice the dumbfounded looks and the mouthed ‘Mother?’ that Jaster and her Buir exchanged over her head as she grasped Sonan under the arms and rolled to her feet, Sonan giggling the entire way. “Yes! Not sad!” Ayet gave Sonan a gentle shake. “First of all,” Ayet shifted to hold Sonan with one arm as she pointed to her Buir. “I know for a fact that you can’t court for osik, buir!”

Ayet ignored the barked ‘language’ from both Jaster and her Buir.

“Second,” Ayet shot a polite smile at Jaster, “Mand’alor, please deliver a message to Jango for me, I would be eternally grateful!”

Jaster raised a single eyebrow, not fooled by Ayet’s act of innocence. “What did I tell you about calling me Jaster, Ad’ika?” Jaster snorted at Ayet’s unrepentant look. “Ok, what’s the message?”

“That I’m cuter than he is and he had better step up his game, It’s currently 1:0”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please leave a comment, they provide me with the will to live! And as always if you've got any suggestions, or spot any mistakes, please let me know!
> 
> Demagolka- Monster, someone who would hurt a child  
> Ad-Child  
> Ad'ika- Child  
> Ori'vod- Big sibling  
> Beskar'gam- beskar armour  
> Ik'aad- Baby, Infant  
> Osik- Shit  
> Buir- Parent


	10. The Young

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned, that I am absolutely b l o w n away by the support! I'm so happy that you've joined me for this crazy roller coaster ride!

“There we go.” Din muttered under his breath as he set the Ad’ika down on an upturned crate within the mining vessel’s cargo hold and set his retrieved weapons down within easy reach. “Ok, kid. What’s your name?” Din asked, smoothing the child’s locks out of their dropping eyes. The intense bout of sobbing earlier had the Ad out, the call of sleep tugging at their heavy eyelids. Din felt the burning urge to ask why the Ad’ika’s on Buire were chasing them down with blasters, but in the face of the Ad’s exhaustion, Din forced the question down. Din could wait until he had treated the Ad’ika’s obviously broken knee before asking any potentially triggering questions.

The Ad’s head tipped back with a mighty yawn, almost overbalancing and tumbling off of the edge of the crate if Din hadn’t shot out his arms to brace him. “I’m Ellian. What’s your name, mister?” The Ad- Elian sleepily rubbed at his eyes with dirtied fists.

Din sat back and cocked his head to the side in conflicted thought.  _ The Covert’s rules always said not to provide any names to Aurettise, since they could be used to track down the Covert’s location. But…  _ Din swallowed audibly at the reminder of where-when he was and very carefully avoided thinking about Boba and Grogu.  _ If the Covert doesn’t exist yet, then it can’t be tracked, besides, there’s no empire to hide from.  _ Din brought a hand up to trace the empty space at his neck where his mythosaur necklace used to sit.  _ I removed my helmet in front of another, I am no longer a true Mandalorian. I have no Covert to protect. No clan. But I can do something…  _ Din tightened his arms around Ellian’s shoulders, heart breaking at how the child seemed to melt into his touch, a tiny hesitant smile peeking through the thick layer of grime coating Ellian’s face.

_ I can protect these Ade. _

“Din.”

Ellian’s smile widened into a beaming grin. The Darksabers at Din’s side hummed louder than they had ever before.

“My name is Din Djarin.”

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“Hey, Kid.” Din called from the entrance of the destroyed cockpit. “Look what I found.” Din hefted the crowbar that he found stowed beneath the pilot’s seat. “What do you say to taking a look inside these crates? Who knows, maybe we’ll find some bacta for your leg. You get first pick.”

An answering cheer echoed off of the crumpled walls of the cargo hold. Din returned to Ellian’s side, taking in the mass of crates littering the cargo hold. There had to have been at least thirty crates scattered across the sizable hold of the mining vessel, each container reaching up to Din’s waist. Once Din came to a stop behind Ellian, a soft, warm weight pressed into Din’s side, sending a simultaneously pleasant and uncomfortable shiver shooting through Din’s nervous system, until the shivers eventually settled down into a warm tingling sensation under Din’s skin where Ellian was pressed against his side. 

Din tentatively rested a hand on the Ad’s shoulder and brought him tighter against his side, the odd tingling sensation under his skin intensifying to the point where it made him shudder, and his muscles involuntarily relax, a strange feeling of contentment settling in his bones. After a minute of savouring the rare contact, a sudden thought struck him, forming a pit in Din’s stomach.  _ We’ve only known each other for less than an hour. Why is an Ad’ika so comfortable with an adult that they just met? Surely there’s someone besides his parents that he can turn to, and it’s not as if I did anything that a normal adult wouldn’t do… _

__

Din was jolted out of his thoughts by Ellian lifting a hand and pointing to a dented green crate in the far left corner of the cargo hold. “That one!”

Din reluctantly unwound his arm from Ellian’s shoulders and stepped back, hefting his newly acquired crowbar in his hands. “What, this one?” Din pointed to the closest red crate.

Ellian giggled. “No, that one!” He pointed to his selected green crate.

Din brought his hand up in an exaggerated  _ Aha!  _ Movement. “Oh! You mean this one!” Din walked over to the indicated corner and gestured to a heavily scuffed blue crate next to Ellian’s chosen crate.

The giggles burst into full tinkling laughter. “No, silly! The one next to it!” Ellian grinned breathlessly. “If all adults are this silly when they’re not being scary, then that’s why the Melida and the Daan can’t end their fight!”

Something about Ellian’s wording niggled at Din, but it was quickly buried under the warm sense of accomplishment at making the Ad’ika laugh. Din had always enjoyed spending time with the foundlings at the Covert. There was something about a child’s innocent laughter that put his heart at ease like nothing else. If there was one thing that he regretted about being his Covert’s sole Beroya, it wouldn’t be the frequent injuries, or the lack of supplies and credits, but the small amount of time that he could spend with children that weren’t afraid of the ‘Big Scary Mando’ as their parents tucked them behind their legs and out of sight.

Din examined the lid of the crate and found that the release controls of the crate were heavily damaged, sparking ominously.  _ Right, good thing I found this…  _ Din levered the curved end of the crowbar under the lip of the lid and prised the crate open with a grunt of exertion. Tucked inside were countless neat stacks of ration bars, the 1.5 X 1.5 metre hovercrate packed to the brim.  _ Huh, I’ve seen these on the market before, and they’re not cheap. Good quality, packs more nutrients than a normal ration bar. Tastes good too. This must have been a supply ship for Death Watch.  _ Din mused silently to himself, before turning back to Ellian, wiggling the ration bar enticingly. “Look what I found. You hungry, Kid?”

Ellian’s blue eyes widened in shocked disbelief. “I can have a whole bar to myself?”

Din’s stomach clenched at the implications behind the Ad’ika’s words.  _ Well, that explains how skinny he is.  _ Din thought bitterly to himself. Ellian was malnourished, and judging by the extent to which his bones jutted out beneath his pale skin, had been for a long time, which made estimating the Ad’s age difficult. Ellian looked by Din’s estimation to be around eight years old, but if his growth was stunted, Ellian could very well be older.

Din strode back across the cargo bay to stand in front of Ellian, holding out the ration bar in a silent offer. The Ad’ika kept his eyes firmly locked on Din’s visor before slowly reaching out and snatching the ration bar from Din’s hand as if he were scared that Din was going to take it from him.

“Eat slowly, Kid, or you’ll make yourself sick.” Din cautioned, stepping back so that Ellian wouldn’t feel threatened and feel the need to choke down the ration bar as quickly as possible and watched in satisfaction as the Ad savoured every bite.

“Right, back to work…”

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After about an hour of prising open crates, Din finally managed to suss out the supplies situation. Of the thirty crates stored in the mining vessel, the crates were separated equally into three different colours, green, blue and red. Green were filled with ration bars, blue with bacta gel and miscellaneous medical supplies, and red with advanced munitions. It seemed like Din’s Death Watch supply run theory had been correct.

“Right Kid, now that that’s over with, let’s see to that leg.” Din coughed, his vocal chords beginning to ache from overuse, coming to kneel in front of Ellian.  _ Hmmm, looks like I was wrong about it being broken.  _ Din mused as he carefully examined the Ad’s knee.  _ Dislocated.  _ Din nodded.  _ Good, I have the supplies to treat a dislocated knee. But first, I need a splint. We’re gonna have to be on the move, and I don’t want his knee being jostled and causing him pain. _

__

Din climbed to his feet and cast his eyes around the cargo hold, searching for something he could use as a makeshift splint, before his eyes caught the sight of the damaged maintenance hatch cover.  _ That’ll do… _

__

Din reached beneath his cloak and pulled out one of his Darksabers, the hilt humming gently in- anticipation? Din reached down and retrieved the broken hatch cover and activated the Darksaber. The appearance of the dark blade prompted a mesmerised gasp from Ellian. With a single swipe, the Darksaber sliced a thin strip of metal off of the edge of the hatch. Din nodded in satisfaction, the scrap of metal looked like it would work. Din repeated the process and waited until the two scraps of metal had cooled enough so that they could be lifted off of the ground.

Stopping by a blue crate, Din retrieved a tube of bacta gel and a roll of bandages before returning to his position kneeling in front of Ellian. “Ok, this is going to hurt. But I’m going to need you to keep your leg as relaxed as possible so I can put your kneecap back in place.” Din waited until he got a slightly nervous nod in return. “Hey, it’s ok kid. It won’t take long, and you’ll feel better afterwards.” Din soothed, holding out a hand for Ellian to grasp onto.

Ellian’s nervous pout smoothened out and a determined glint entered his eyes at Din’s reassurances. “Ok, I’ll be brave!”

Din gave Ellian’s hand one last squeeze before grasping the boy’s injured leg firmly and tugging as hard as he could. A sickly  _ pop  _ rang out through the tense air, accompanied by a strangled scream. As soon as Din was sure that the kneecap had popped back into place properly, he pulled Ellian into a firm hug, cradling the boy’s head in the crook of his neck as he shushed his hiccupping sobs. “Shhh, shhhh. It’s ok, it’s ok, easy. It’s over now, you did good.”

After a few minutes of soothing rocking, Ellian sat back from Din’s hug, bringing a hand up to swipe at his watery eyes, a wobbly smile on his face. “S-See? I told you I’d be brave!”

Din gathered a corner of his cape in his hand and used it to dab at the boy’s tears, pride welling in his chest. “You were very brave. Well done kid. Now, let’s get some bacta on that knee.” Din retrieved the tube of bacta that he had left within reach and slathered a generous layer over Ellian’s swollen knee, then bound it tightly and neatly with the roll of bandages. Smiling gently at the boy’s relieved sigh as the bacta worked its magic.  _ Hmm, what can I bind the splint with…?  _ Din thought to himself, scanning his surroundings.  _ Ah, the cargo netting will do.  _ After cutting himself a generous swathe of netting, Din secured the two metal strips tightly to either side of Ellian’s knee in a makeshift splint, so that the leg couldn’t bend.

“How does that feel?” Din asked gently, sitting back on his heels and observing Ellian’s face carefully for any signs of pain.

“Wow! It really does feel better!” Ellian crowed in amazement, wiggling his foot slightly and marvelling at the lack of pain. “Thank you Mister Din Sir!”

Din let out a sigh of pure relief reaching out a hand to ruffle the Ad’ika’s hair, handing him another ration bar.  _ He needs to eat more… _ “You’re welcome, Kid. And what have I told you, it’s just Din.” Din heaved himself to his feet, wincing as the open wound at his brow rubbed painfully against his helmet.  _ It’s no use wasting bacta on a wound this small-  _ Din’s head snapped to the side as he picked up the sound of approaching footsteps echoing off of the concrete outside, hand already reaching for his blaster.  _ Kriff, were those Demagolkas part of a larger group?  _ Din thought frantically to himself as he ducked behind a crate for cover, pulling Ellian with him, ignoring the Ad’ika’s indiginant squawk.

_ Hmm, sounds like there’s five, no, six of them. I should be able to take them on of I keep them in the choke point at the ship’s ramp, as long as they don’t have heavy munitions- Wait.  _ Din’s head cocked to the side.  _ Those footsteps are too light to be a fully grown adult’s, and the gait is too short. _ From his position crouched behind a crate, Din could just about make out the forms of six children cautiously approaching the ship.

“Big Brother Nield!” Ellian cried, straightening as far as he could over the top of the crate without putting weight on his injured leg, and waved enthusiastically at the approaching group.

_ What? _

__

“You know them?” Din asked, dumbfounded, lowering his blaster.

Ellian paused his waving and shot Din a confused look. “Yeah? He’s one of the leaders of the young.” Ellain said like it should be obvious.

“Ellian!” The Ad’ika at the head of the approaching group called, breaking out into a sprint, the others behind him following his lead. “Ellian! What were you thinking?! Cerasi and I  _ told  _ you not to go out on a supply run alone!”

Ellian’s lower lip wobbled, tears building up in his shocking blue eyes. “B-But, the little ones were hungry…”

The group came to a stop at the ramp of the ship, and now that they were closer, Din could see that they were made up of Ade around Ellian’s age, each one just as malnourished. The eldest, Nield, stepped forward, his brown hair almost luminescent in the setting sun as his stern expression softened slightly at Ellian’s words. “I know, Ellian. But you know how dangerous it is to go alone. What if the Elders had caught you, huh? What if you had gotten hurt? We saw the three bodies back there, I don’t remember you being that good with a blaster…”

A grin spread across Ellian’s face, all traces of sadness disappearing in the blink of an eye. “I did! But Mister Din fixed it for me!”

At Ellian’s words, Nield and the other Ade raised their blasters in unison, taking a step back in suspicion. “’Mister Din?’ Ellian, did you get caught by an Elder?! How did you escape?!”

_ They’re holding them all wrong. The recoil on blasters of that model will give them a broken wrist and face if they keep holding them like that…  _ Din thought to himself with a wince.

Din set his blaster down carefully and raised his hands slowly above the crate, wincing at the clattering sound of hands slipping on blasters.

“Wait! Mister Din isn’t an Elder! He crashed here about an hour ago and saved me from those Elders earlier!” Ellian shuffled carefully out from behind the crate. “Look! He even fixed my knee for me and gave me food!” He gestured at his neatly wrapped and splinted knee and waved his half eaten ration bar at Nield.

Nield’s eyebrows rose in shock as his eyes darted between the ration bar and Ellian’s wrapped knee. “Is this true, ‘Mister Din?’” Nield asked cautiously, finger still on the trigger.

“Yes, it is.” Din said shortly, watching as the children behind Nield gulped down their saliva as they followed the ration bar with their eyes.

“Ok, come out slowly, keep your hands in the air.” Nield commanded, hefting his blaster in warning.

“Alright.” Din replied. “Easy.” Din stook to his full height.

Nield’s jaw dropped as he took in Din’s armour, blaster dipping to point at the ground in shock as the beskar sent the reflected rays of the setting sun dancing across the floor of the ship. “You’re a Mandlorian.”

Din inclined his head silently.

Nield swallowed, eyes darting between the open crates of supplies. “I would like to hire you. We don’t have any credits, but I heard from my studies that Mandalorians place great value in children.”

Din nodded. “You heard right. Children are the future, this is the Way.” He lowered his hands as Nield made the signal for the other Ade to lower their blaster. “I will accept your contract, and these supplies are yours. On one condition.”

Nield tensed, a wary glint entering his eye as the Ade behind him shifted uncomfortably, making the fourteen-year-old child look like a cornered animal. “What?”

Din pointed to their stances. “As long as you let me teach you how to hold a blaster properly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Please comment! COmments are my lifeforce! As always, if you have any suggestions, please tell me!
> 
> Ad- Child  
> Ad'ika- Child  
> Ade- Children


	11. Kenobi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said before, the story of this fic is in constant flux, because none of this is prewritten lmaooo, so if any of you guys have any suggestions, let me know!

Din kept a steadying hand on Ellian’s shoulder, slowing his pace to match the wobbling boy as they followed closely behind Nield and the other Ade, pushing along a hovercrate of medical supplies with his free hand. “Just wait until you meet big brother Obi! He’s really nice!” Ellian said in a stage whisper that was somehow louder than his usual speaking voice. “Oh! And Big sister Cerasi too!”

“Is that right, Kid?” Din squeezed Ellian’s bony shoulder gently, half paying attention to the boy’s rambling as he scanned their surroundings for any potential threats.

“We’re here.” Came Nield’s quiet voice as the group stopped in the middle of an empty street, the once great skyscrapers around them slowly crumbling to nothing, leaving enormous piles of rubble strewn across the cracked concrete.

_What? This is their base of operations? We’ve only been walking for about a minute though. The rubble might be good cover in a pinch but-_ Din’s bewildered thoughts were cut off by the teeth grating screech of metal against stone. Din’s head snapped to the side, blaster already drawn to eliminate the threat, only to be met with the sight of three Ade heaving a manhole cover large enough to fit an entire speeder through it off of the ground, revealing the rusted rungs of an ancient ladder leading down into what seemed like endless darkness. _The sewers? Smart. Sewers can be an easily defensible spot for an out of sight base of operations. The Covert managed to survive for decades underground before I-_ Din gritted his teeth against the cloying wave of guilt rising in his chest, grateful for the helmet covering his face.

“Two of you stand guard while the rest of us enter, then push the crates in and follow after us.” Nield ordered, earning twin determined nods from the two eldest girls of the group before swinging his legs over the gap and descending down the ladder, the rest of the kids following him.

The two girls swung their blasters up in a ‘ready’ position that made Din wince. _Yeah, definitely need to give those lessons sooner rather than later. They’re more likely to hurt themselves sooner than hurt an enemy with grips like that.._ Din stopped Ellian with a hand on the shoulder. “Wait. I’ll go first. I’ll catch you if you fall.” Din pointed silently to the Ad’ika’s injured knee.

Ellian looked between his knee and Din’s visor a few times in bewilderment before understanding entered his eyes and a beaming grin stretched across his face. “Ok Mister Din Sir! I trust you!”

Din felt a warm blush creep its way up his neck at the Ad’ika’s words, the simple pleasure of an Ad’s trust just beginning to fill the Grogu shaped hole in Din’s heart that had bled every day since his son had left with the Jedi. With gentle warmth simmering in his chest, Din followed Nield and the others down into the sewers. Din felt the thick layer of rust coating the rungs crackle under his gloves, the metal creaking ominously as Din kept an eagle eye on Ellian’s descent above him.

Miraculously, after a tense thirty seconds of clambering down the ladder, their party made it safely down into the sewers. Nield stepped back away from the ladder and motioned for Din and the others to do the same. Once they were a safe distance away from the opening, Nield cupped a hand to his mouth and called up to the two girls guarding the crates. “Push them in!”

“Yes, Boss!” One of the girls’ voices echoed off of the cavernous sewer walls before the first crate of ration bars came hurtling down towards the ground, before the hover propulsors in the base of the crate kicked in. The crate bobbed above the ground like a sailboat adrift in a stormy sea before Nield darted forward and dragged the crate out of the landing zone. 

“Send down the next one!” The process continued until they were left with three crates of ration bars, and two crates of medical supplies and bacta. Din didn’t even want to think about how much the supplies still left on the ship were worth. It was more credits than he would ever see at least. Once the two girls who had stood guard had heaved the drain cover back into place and joined the rest of the group on the ground, Din followed after Nield as they began their trek into the depths of the sewers.

Din was glad for the filters in his helmet that blocked out the worst of the smell, but despite the scent, the sight of the dank claustrophobic tunnels inspired a great feeling of nostalgia. The veritable labyrinth of tunnels beneath the city reminded him so strongly of his home with his Covert that he could almost imagine packs of foundlings running through the narrow tunnels, giggling to each other as they played. Most of all, he missed his friend, Paz. They had grown up together in the covert and had been almost inseparable, when Din wasn’t away with his Buir for his Beroya training that is. The larger boy had protected him from the snide comments and whispers of the other foundlings, and helped Din find his place within their Covert. _Well, before I ruined everything by taking the bounty on the kid…_ A bitter feeling of self-incrimination and guilt formed in the pit of Din’s stomach as he thought about how _angry_ Paz had been at him when Din had brought back the Imperial beskar. Din had done it for the foundlings but had failed to take into account Paz’s feelings about anything to do with the Empire. It had been the first time that Paz had laid a hand on him outside of training… _Yet another reason why I don’t deserve to be called a Mandalorian. I failed to protect one of my own, even from themselves…_

“It’s just through here.” Nield’s firm voice jolted Din out of his spiralling thoughts. Nield lifted a hand to gesture to a sharp right bend.

Din nodded in understanding and braced himself for whatever he might see. But nothing could have prepared Din for the horrors that lay in wait around that corner.

Countless children huddled together, clutching at each other to stave off the biting chill of the sewers. Ade as young as six years old were so emaciated that they resembled breathing skeletons more than they did children, skin stretched tightly over jutting bones. A few older children wandered from group to group, distributing chunks of ration bars that were quickly grasped and devoured with shaking fingers. Every Ad’ika bore some sort of wound, ranging between a simple bruise or a sloppily splinted broken limb, but the delirious groaning and whimpers of pain emanating from beyond a tattered cloth serving as a makeshift door to a hidden side room told Din that the Ade suffered worse than a few broken bones. The sickly sweet scent of infection was so strong that the filters within Din’s helmet were unable to filter it out. A small group of Ade in the corner practiced sloppy katas, hands slipping on the grips of battered batons.

The niggling feeling that had stuck in Din’s mind ever since he had picked up Ellian ignited into a raging inferno of pure horror and fury. _This isn’t a few war displaced Ade, this is an army…_

Once the Ade caught sight of Din, they cowered as far away from him as possible, pressing their knobbly spines against the damp walls, the whites of their eyes showing as they darted between all possible exit points. One of the older Ade, a girl with shoulder length copper hair, shot to her feet, raising her arms to cover as much area as she could while acting as a human shield between Din and the terrified pack of children behind her.

Din froze, forcefully dispelling his anger. It wouldn’t do to scare the Ade any more than they already were.

Nield cleared his throat loudly and stepped in front of Din, coming to a stop before the copper haired girl. “Stand down, Cerasi. Din’s not one of the Elders. It was his ship that crashed here earlier. He’s a Mandalorian, and I hired him to help. His kind are known to hold children in high regard.”

“Children are the future.” Din nodded, heart breaking at the way that the Ade flinched back at the sound of his voice. At the sound of an adult’s voice. _What sort of karking Hut’uun Shabuir Demagolka is responsible for this? I will rip them apart piece by piece._

Cerasi kept her eyes firmly locked on Din’s visor, arms still cautiously raised as she watched for any sudden moves. “Are you sure about this, Nield?”

Nield opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Ellian waddling as fast as he could past him to clench his tiny fists in Cerasi’s tattered shirt. “Yeah, Big Sister Cerasi! Mister Din Sir saved me from the Elders when they were chasing me!” Ellian stuck his injured leg in the air, wobbling as he struggled to keep his balance. “Look! He even gave me bacta and _two entire_ ration bars to myself!”

Cerasi instinctively laid a hand on Ellian’s shoulder to steady him as she leant down to examine Ellian’s knee, eyes widening as she took in the expertly wrapped and splinted injury. “You did this?” She asked, all traces of suspicion gone from her voice, replaced with genuine surprise. “Thank you.” A beautiful smile lit up her face. “No elder would have wasted resources on us, even if they were a spy.”

Following their leaders’ example, the previously terrified children crept closer, sneaking looks at Ellian’s wrapped knee and cooing softly at Din’s shiny armour.

Nield shook his head in grudging amusement at the little ones’ behaviour, raising a hand to gently nudge Din out of the way of the hovercrates behind him. “The Mandalorian is sharing his supplies with us too.” A few over eager Ade dashed towards the crates in excitement before stopping with a pout at Nield’s raised hand. “Cerasi, can you put together a team to collect the rest of the supplies from the Mandalorian’s ship?” Cerasi nodded and strode off to talk to the group of Ade practicing katas. “Ellian, go talk to your friends. You may have won us an advantage, but you still disobeyed my direct orders and you got hurt because of it. Think about what you’ve done.” Ellian pouted but nodded and slunk off to join a group of Ade who were staring at Din and whispering behind their hands to each other. “Din, follow me please. From what I’ve seen of Ellian’s knee, you have some sort of medical knowledge, and we could really use some of your expertise. A few of us were injured in our last skirmish. We can talk strategy later.”

Din raised a brow behind his helmet at the Ad’ika’s proficiency. _Now that’s some natural leadership right there. And that girl before, how she protected her Vode, Mandokarla…_ Din nodded and followed closely behind Nield, allowing the Ade that he passed by to poke at his armour with an indulgent smile hidden behind his bucket.

Before long, the two had reached the tattered curtain and the sickly scent of infection and vomit grew stronger, even through Din’s helmet’s air filter. Nield seemed to not be affected at all, likely used to the sickening smell.

With a single hand, Nield reached out and drew back the curtain, gesturing Din forward ahead of him. Din passed through the opening, and the sight before him almost made him throw up in his helmet. An urge he hadn’t felt since his first kill. Seven Ade were laid up on makeshift cots, either unconscious, or clutching at gaping weeping wounds.

“Ah, Nield! Did you bring me a helper?” Came a crisply accented voice, the high Coruscanti accent sticking out amongst the heady drawl of the other Ade.

Din spotted the speaker leaning over one of the wounded Ade. The Ad’ika was a rare red-head with his hair shorn short, bar a single thin braid that framed the left side of his face. The boy’s loose brown robes hung off of his skinny- but not skeletal- form. If Din had to guess, he had joined the war later than his comrades. The Ad’ika’s pale freckled skin was flushed with exertion as his hands hovered over one of the injured Ade’s wounds.

Din’s eyes widened behind his visor as the wound slowly closed before his eyes. _There’s only one other person that I’ve seen do that before…_

“Are you a Jedi?”

At the sound of Din’s raspy voice, the Ad’ika looked up from his work and stumbled back in shock once he caught sight of Din’s beskar’gam, scrambling back as fast as he could. “A Mandalorian?!” The Ad’ika’s voice wobbled and cracked with pure fear, flushed face paling so fast that Din was worried that they would pass out on the spot.

“Have you come to kill me?” The Ad’ika panted, slowly reaching a hand behind him to feel for potential weapons, the whites of his turquoise eyes visible in his terror.

Nield marched past Din, grasping the panicking Ad’ika by the shoulders and forcing him to look Nield in the eyes. “Calm down, Obi-Wan!” Nield ordered, shaking The ad-Obi-Wan by the shoulders lightly. “I don’t know what they taught you at your backwards temple, but Mandalorians don’t hurt children! Why do you think I let him down here?”

Obi-Wan swallowed, hands twitching towards an empty space on his belt, eyes flicking back to Din. “B-But, I was told about Mandalorians in the Creche! They said that they hate Jedi, and they steal initiates and crechlings away from their masters and torture them with force blocking beskar!”

Nield clasped a hand firmly on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, forcing the panicking Ad’ika to look into his eyes. “Did your master Jinn tell you that? ‘Cause that man is so karking trustworthy isn’t he? I don’t know what you’ve heard, but in my studies, I’ve heard that the Mandalorians are an honourable people that would never lay a hand on a child. That’s more than I can say for your ‘peace-keeping’ Master Jin, Obi. So go on, tell me, who told you that?”

_What? Who is this ‘Master Jinn’, and why did he leave an Ad’ika alone in a war-zone?_ Din thought suspiciously, protective rage rising in his chest at the sight of the Ad’s watery eyes. _Who in their right mind would leave behind an Ad, let alone one this precious, doesn’t this ‘Master Jinn’ know how much red-heads are worth on the slave market…?_ Though judging by the pink scar peeking above Obi-Wan’s collar, Din would bet that this ‘Master Jinn’ knew that already, Din thought to himself, struggling not to bare his teeth in a feral snarl, lest he panic the Ad’ika any more.

Obi-Wan swallowed, eyed flicking away from Nields to look intently at the damp ground. “The senior Padawans…”

“There, see? Not a Master, or a teacher. Would you trust a Senior Padawan not to tell horror stories to the initiates to scare them?” Nield asked, giving the back of Obi-Wan’s neck a grounding squeeze.

Obi-Wan shook his head silently.

Nodding in satisfaction, Nield stepped away from Obi-Wan and made his way back through the tattered curtain. “I’ll talk to you later, I need to help coordinate the rest of the Young.”

Obi-Wan took a deep grounding breath before tentatively extending his hand towards Din. “Hello, there. My name is Obi-Wan. What do you say to me treating that nasty head wound you’ve got there?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please leave a comment! They just make me so happy!
> 
> Ad- Child  
> Buire- Parents  
> Ad'ika- Child  
> Ade- Children  
> Vode- Siblings  
> Hut'uun- Extreme insult, coward  
> Shabuir- Insult, stronger than jerk  
> Demagolka- Monster, someone that would hurt a child  
> Mandokarla- The 'right stuff', what makes a good Mandalorian


	12. The Creche's Boogieman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I am an active Obi-Wan simp

“What do you say to me treating that nasty head wound you’ve got there?” Obi-Wan, his lingering nervousness and pounding heart behind a pleasant smile as he held his arm out to the imposing Mandalorian in greeting. Obi-Wan fought the urge to swallow as the Mandalorian slowly reached forward, telegraphing his moves as if Obi-Wan was a wild animal. Logically, Obi-Wan knew that he likely had nothing to fear from the seemingly well meaning and friendly(?) Mandalorian, Nield’s words made sense, and Obi-Wan  _ definitely  _ wouldn’t trust Quinlan around a group of impressionable crechelings, seeing as Obi-Wan had caught him trying to convince a group of initiates that the ghost of a former Padawan haunted the Salle bathrooms. But still, Obi-Wan couldn’t completely shake off the lingering anxiety left by a lifetime of spine-chilling horror stories of Evil Mandalorians stealing Initiates and Padawans and torturing them by cutting them off from the force with their force muffling beskar.

Obi-Wan startled out of his thoughts as the Mandalorian gripped his arm firmly, nodding his head in greeting. “Su’cuy gar, Obi-Wan. I am Din Djarin.” Obi-Wan shuddered at the warm grounding grip on his forearm before the Manda- Din, leaned back and tilted his helmet towards the occupied cots in the Young’s makeshift sick bay. “I believe that I was tasked with helping you here?”

Obi-Wan stepped back and raised a single brow at Din. “I believe that I asked about that head wound first.” Obi-Wan gestured to the dried trails of blood running down the man’s neck and soaking into his flight suit. A tacky layer of half dried blood reflected the low lighting of the sick bay, indicating that Din had likely reopened his wounds. Obi-Wan’s irrational fear of Din was fading more and more by the second as he watched the man shuffle awkwardly, shoulders lifting until they bracketed his ears in the face of Obi-Wan’s good intentioned scolding.  _ If he thinks this is bad, he should meet Head Healer Che.  _ Obi-Wan inwardly scoffed to himself, but Obi-Wan would be damned before he would let someone, even someone he was still particularly wary of, walk away without taking care of themselves.

Din’s helmet tilted slightly as he discretely scanned their captive audience, a crackling gulp emanating from his vocoder as his shoulders rose impossibly higher until his pauldrons scraped his helmet. “U-Uh, I’m fine. Don’t waste bacta on me.”

_ Does he not want anyone to see his face? Why, has he got facial scars, or is he just embarrassed about his looks?  _ Obi-Wan mused to himself, subconsciously inching closer toward Din, fingers itching to prod at the man’s untreated wound. Obi-Wan stopped dead in his tracks, eyes growing wide as he felt a tentative brush against his shields, a sensation that he had not felt since his master had left him behind on a war-torn planet. Obi-Wan cautiously reached back after sensing no ill intent, subconsciously noting that Din had stepped closer, hands held out as if to catch Obi-Wan should he fall. The tentative poking against his shields morphed into the equivalent of a mental embrace. Obi-Wan shivered against the sudden onslaught of warm fuzzy affection that the mysterious force-sensitive was hurling against Obi-Wan's mental shields.

With more power behind the mysterious mental prodding, Obi-Wan could just about make out a few characteristics of the one behind the mental embrace.  _ It doesn’t feel like the force signature of any living thing I’ve met. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that it felt like a lightsaber, but that’s impossible, Master Jinn took mine with him when he expelled me from the order…  _ Obi-Wan thought sadly, feeling a familiar sense of guilt wash over him from disappointing his Master.  _ But there’s something else… Someone else… _

As if sensing Obi-Wan’s melancholy through his air-tight mental shields, the mental embrace squeezed harder, and from it, Obi-Wan could just about make out an almost inaudible whisp-no, two almost inaudible whispers. The whispers were so quiet that Obi-Wan almost chalked them up to being figments of his own imagination, but he could just about pick up every other word or so, though they were in a strange language that Obi-Wan had never heard before…  _ Ven’Riduur… Di’kut… Aliit… _

__

“Hey, are you Ok?” Din’s rang out over the soft whispers of the force, concern clear in his voice even through the vocoder.

Obi-Wan shook his head to clear his jumbled thoughts and straightened, shooting Din a slightly wobbly smile. “I’m fine. Now let’s see about your head wound.”  _ My mental breakdown can wait until I’ve taken care of everyone that needs it. _

“No, really, it’s fine. I can take care of it by myself. Is there somewhere more private where I can take this off?” Din asked, gesturing a gloved hand at his helmet, still shifting from foot to foot awkwardly.

Obi-Wan shook his head apologetically. “I’m sorry, but this is most privacy you’ll get here. There’s too little space and too many Young for privacy here.” Obi-Wan swallowed down his lingering nervousness and reached out his hands to push gently at the Mandalorian’s chest plate, trusting him not to lash out in front of any witnesses, even if Obi-Wan was a Padawan ripe for the stealing after being abandoned by his Master.

Obi-Wan’s efforts to corral the reluctant Mandalorian were interrupted as a small figure waddled through the tattered cloth at the entrance of the sick bay. “Mister Din Sir!”

Sensing an opportunity, Obi-Wan removed his hands from Din’s chest plate and turned on his heel to settle his hands on Ellian’s shoulders. “Hello there, Dear One.”

Ellian’s smile grew impossibly wider, threatening to tear his face in two. “Big brother Obi!” Ellian wiggled in happiness. “Big sister Cerasi told me to show you what Mister Din did!” The boy wiggled his neatly bandaged leg in the air, and Obi-Wan could see several curious little faces poking through the curtain behind Ellian.

Obi-Wan felt an overwhelming wave of fondness rise in his chest at the sight of the little ones’ joy. It was for the sake of the lives of the little ones like Ellian and his friends that Obi-Wan had decided to disobey his Master and help the Young in any way that he could, even without his Lightsaber.

Obi-Wan banished those thoughts for later for when his skills weren’t needed and looked Ellian in the eye. “Well, Dear One. That’s some pretty wrapping! But I was hoping that you could help me with something.” Obi-Wan leaned in with a wink to loudly whisper in the boy’s ear so that their little eavesdroppers could hear too. “Your Mister Din is being very stubborn, and won’t let me treat his wound. Maybe you could help me get him to take his helmet off so I can treat that nasty cut, hmm?” Obi-Wan leaned in closer and whispered for real. “I Think he’s embarrassed of his face.”

Ellian reeled back with a loud shocked gasp. “Mister Din Sir! That’s very bad! You can’t not let big brother Obi help! If you don’t clean it, it will go yucky!” Ellian borderline yelled, the little peeking faces behind him nodding in agreement. “I’ll still like you even if you’re ugly!”

Obi-Wan hid a snicker behind the tattered sleeve of his robe.

“W-Well, uh-“ Din stuttered, slowly backing away from the slowly advancing Ellian’s lopsided wobble. Obi-Wan struggled not to laugh at the comical sight of a child half the Mandalorian’s hight crowding Din backwards until the back of his knees hit the cot behind him, forcing Din to sit on the moth bitten sheets with a breathless ‘ _ oof’. _

__

_ Ahh, the oblivious biting insult of a child… _

__

“Well, I wouldn’t quite put it that way, but he has the general gist right.” Obi-Wan approached the cot, watching with amusement as Din let Ellian clamber gracelessly into his lap, even extending a hand to help the child along when the child winced at the pain in his leg. Obi-Wan may not have been able to see Din’s face, but he could tell from the Mandalorian’s surprisingly expressive body language that he didn’t mind Ellian using his as a climbing frame, maybe even enjoying the casual touch as Din’s muscles tensed, shivered, then relaxed into a boneless heap. Figuring that now was the time to strike while Din was so relaxed, Obi-Wan stepped forward, resting his hand cautiously on Din’s shoulder, revelling in the gentle warmth emanating through the beskar. “You will receive no judgement here, no matter what lies beneath your helmet.”

Din’s visor tilted as he looked between Obi-Wan, Ellian’s sad tooka eyes, and the children at the door, obviously conflicted. A tense couple of seconds passed before Din eventually came to a decision. Obi-Wan watched Din’s every move, mentally preparing himself for what he might see that would warrant such reluctance to reveal his face.

Din’s hand paused at the seal of his helmet, before visibly taking a deep breath and slowly pulling the helmet over his head.

_ Oh. _

__

A chorus of gasps rose from Ellian and the children peeking around the curtain. “Mr Din Sir! You’re so pretty!”

And he really was.  _ Now why was he so reluctant to take his helmet off when he was hiding all of that?  _ Obi-Wan thought, perplexed. Din had slightly curly rich brown hair that stuck up haphazardly from rubbing against the inside of the helmet, but the man’s messy hair did nothing to detract from his masculine, but almost delicate face. It was quite adorable actually, though how a man in his thirties managed to look adorable, Obi-Wan had no idea. Din was obviously not used to having to school his facial expressions from behind his helmet, his wide molten brown eyes were extremely expressive, clearly conveying the man’s discomfort at the stares locked on his face. An embarrassed flush spread across Din’s face as his shoulders crept back up towards his ears, as if to cover as much of his face as possible, wincing as the movement pulled at the torn skin above his brow.

Obi-Wan felt his brows involuntarily rise as the man’s flush spread down his neck, clearly fighting not to fidget as the children at the door loudly whispered clumsy compliments between themselves, hands clutching and Ellian’s back and pulling the child to his chest as one would a teddy-bear. Obi-Wan felt the last vestiges of anxiety and fear at the unexpected appearance of the Creche’s boogieman, a Mandalorian, slipping away as the man squirmed under the attention on his bare face.  _ How was I ever afraid of a man like this? He clearly would never hurt a child, even when he’s in such intense discomfort like this. Not even a Jedi, judging by the way he was concerned for my well-being earlier. Huh, guess you can’t trust a word out of a Senior Padawan’s mouth. _

__

“Alright, that’s quite enough, little ones, run along now. Go and see if Nield needs your help.” Obi-Wan said, feeling that Din had endured enough embarrassment for the next month or so.

With a disappointed grumble, Ellian slid off of Din’s lap and retreated back out of the sickbay, giggling with his friends the entire way.

“See, you don’t need to waste bacta on me…” Din grumbled, refusing to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes without the barrier of his visor between them.

Obi-Wan stepped forward, poking gently at the edges of the gash.  _ Hmm, doesn’t look like his skull is fractured.  _ Obi-Wan quickly checked Din’s pupils and nodded to himself as they appeared to be the same size.  _ No concussion either.  _ “You’re right, it doesn't look like you need any bacta, although we certainly have enough to spare after you generously shared your supplies with us.” Din’s shoulders relaxed. “I should be able to heal this easily enough myself without bacta.” Obi-Wan chirped cheerfully, laying his hands gently on Din’s face before the man could protest, sending a wave of healing energy through the wound. As soon as Obi-Wan’s healing energy touched Din, a mental shockwave almost knocked him off of his feet, a deluge of intense foreign emotions battering against his durasteel shields.

SWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWWWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWWSWSWSWSWSWS

Din reeled back as his mind erupted with  _ pain pain paIN PAIN _ **_PAINPAINPAINPAINOHGODTHERESAHOLEINMYSTOMACHITHURTSHELPHELPPAIN_ **

****

Din’s hands flew to his head, as sensations and emotions that weren’t his own buffeted his mind. Din fell back on the cot and writhed under the mental onslaught. The overwhelming phantom pain cut off abruptly and was replaced with a different, but no less excruciating, feeling of pure  _ irritation. Di’kutdi’kutwhyleavemereelworthyven’riduurmand’alorgobackfindriduurdi’kutwhydidn’tyou _ **_listen_ ** _. _

__

The feeling persisted until something  _ snapped  _ into place, and a soothing voice sounded over the deluge of voices.  _ You need to calm down. You’re only creating a negative feedback loop. _

__

_ Obi-Wan?  _ Din thought to himself, dazed.

_ Hello, there. I’m going to extend my shields to cover you, brace yourself. _

__

A cool soothing feeling washed over Din’s mind, washing away the angry shouts and leaving only blessed  _ silence. _

__

_ What was that?  _ Din thought.

_ Congratulations, Din. You appear to be force-sensitive, and you somehow just formed a force-bond with me. _ ****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please leave a comment, they make me so happy! And as always, if you have any suggestions, please tell me! None of this thing is pre-written, and is liable to change with a good suggestion lmaoo
> 
> Di'kut- Idiot  
> Ven'riduur- Fiance, future spouse  
> Riduur- spouse  
> Aliit- Clan, family


	13. Preparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I promised that the action would pick up this chapter, but my chronic case of dragging everything in my writing out has struck again!

Din’s eyes slowly cracked open, a mighty yawn making his vocoder cackle. He felt more well rested than he had since the Razor Crest had been destroyed, his limbs loose and languid. Din attempted to sit up, but a warm, breathing barricade of tiny bodies strewn over his own stopped him in his tracks. After the fiasco in the sickbay, Obi-Wan had managed to block out the worst of the excruciatingly loud screams in his head and heal the wound on his head. But despite the Ad’ika’s best efforts, it was only the cool soothing beskar of his helmet that managed to reduce the voices to slight whispers in the back of his mind, the Darksabers silent at his side, though if he listened hard enough, Din could pick up faint traces of shame and reticence from the normally vocal ‘Sabres. Still annoying, but not overwhelming. But through it all, Din could feel what felt like a bright woven strand connecting him to something- someone, overwhelmingly kind and light.

The reminder of the previous day had a flush of residual shame warming his cheeks. He had removed his helmet in front of others once again. The Ade had been persistent, and Obi-Wan’s worried eyes had pushed him over the edge.  _ Those things should be classified as a weapon…  _ Din thought to himself. Din had eventually made the difficult choice to remove his helmet because he was already Dar’Manda. He had broken his Creed before and therefore had no right to cling to his core beliefs anymore, no matter how much comfort they brought.

The shifting of a child against his side jolted Din out of his spiralling thoughts. Din’s face softened behind his helmet as he gently carded a gloved hand though the Ad’ika’s matted hair. After Din’s wound had been healed, and his helmet replaced, Din had assisted Cerasi and the older Young in distributing ration bars and applying bacta. With their bellies full of food, and their aches soothed, the Young had quickly drifted off into a deep sleep. Obi-Wan, probably sensing Din’s weariness with his strange magic, had shoved Din into a soft, warm pile of Ade and ordered him to sleep. And Din, exhausted from his earlier trials, had passed out immediately, the warm comfort of Ade pressed trustingly up against him in their sleep soothing the ache that Grogu had left behind.

_ But,  _ Din thought to himself,  _ Don’t think I didn’t notice Obi-Wan sneaking off instead of resting. From how tired Grogu used to get from healing even a small wound, the Ad’ika is likely dead on his feet.  _ Din resolved himself to return the favour and shove the stubborn Ad’ika into a pile of slumbering children the first chance he got.

Hushed whispers from the far corner of the cavernous room drew Din’s attention. Tilting his head so that he could see over the heads of the slumbering Ade, Din caught sight of Nield, Obi-Wan and Cerasi standing huddled in the corner, whispering conspiratorially to each other.  _ The three leaders holding a ‘secret’ meeting? Suspicious…  _ Din carefully shifted the sleeping Ade off of him and rolled to his feet.  _ They’re probably planning some sort of strike, and there’s no way that I’m letting an Ade lay a finger on a blaster without at least an hour of basic training. _

__

Carefully picking his way around the tiny bodies strewn across the damp floor, Din eventually reached the clandestine meeting, catching a few whispered bastardised military terms before Obi-Wan caught sight of Din. Cutting himself off mid-sentence, Obi-Wan clasped his arms behind his back and straightened. “Hello there, Mister Din! Did you have a nice nap? Hopefully you’re well rested after Sorry if the children were a little clingy, they’ve been out of sorts since a couple of children that they were close with went missing a few days ago.”

Cerasi nodded, her copper bob bouncing with her head movements. “Yeah, it was weird. Normally, the Elders leave the bodies behind when they manage to catch one of us, but this time, they just disappeared!”

Din felt the dormant rage inside of him swell once again at the casual mention of murdering an Ad’ika. “Tell me the situation.” Din struggled to keep the growl out of his voice. “Why do these ‘Elders’ feel as if they have the right to harm the future?”

Cerasi tilted her head inquisitively. “The future?”

Din nodded resolutely. “Children are the future.”

Nield cleared his throat, bringing the conversation back on track. “The short version is, there are three factions in this war, the Melida, the Daan, they’re the Elders, and us. The Young. The Melida and the Daan have been fighting each other for as long as any of us can remember.”

“The Elders are killing this planet and each other, and they won’t stop. They’ve been fighting for so long that they don’t even remember what they’re fighting for, aside from blind hatred.” Cerasi said, her eyes downcast. “So we decided to band together and put a stop to the fighting once and for all.”

“What is your plan? How to you plan to defeat the Elders and what will you do if you do win? Do any of you know how to create a government, or prevent rebellions from the surviving elders?” Din asked.

Nield drew up to his full height, squaring his shoulders. “The Young have already done most of the groundwork. We have untilised guerrilla tactics and sabotaged or destroyed most of their supply routes and convoys. We made it seem like there are more of us than there are, and drove them back to their strongholds, forcing them to give up their outposts.”

Din felt his eyebrows rise from beneath his helmet.  _ That is some sound battle strategy. It’s exactly what I would have done, provided I was in the same situation, but…  _ “What about after you win? What will you do?”

Cerasi stepped forward, a determined glint in her eye. “My father is the leader of the Melida. I know how to lead a people. We will create a council of Young so that everyone is heard.”

Nield crossed his arms and stepped forward. “No, we need to destroy the hall of memories. If we keep reminders of the past around, what’s to stop the surviving Elders from goading others into a revolution against us?”

Cerasi’s mouth turned down, a weary sigh escaping her as if it was an argument that they had had before. “No we shouldn’t! Why should we destroy our people’s history? We should know what we did wrong so that we don’t repeat it!”

Obi-Wan stepped forward before the two could descend into a full blown argument. “I’ve said it before, but I think that we should contact the Jedi Council directly once the fighting is over and ask for aid in setting up a sustainable government.”

Nield snorted. “Why should we trust the Jedi? Fat lot of good they did us when they sent a Master who was supposed to help us, but instead decided to save his lady love, abandon his Padawan, and leave us to die.” Nield shook his head. “He didn’t even bother to tear off your braid when he expelled you from the order and took your Lightsabre., so what makes you think that the Jedi care enough about you to help us?”

Din felt a bolt of pure hurt travel down the bright strand in his head, the beautiful blue chord darkening with sadness, even as the Ad’ika himself seemed to not be affected. Din felt the sensation of a door closing in his face, and the sensation cut off abruptly. Din felt his previously suppressed rage flare up again at the boy’s words, before catching Obi-Wan flinch out of the corner of his eye. Struggling to remember Obi-Wan’s instructions the night before, Din mentally constructed a wall between him and Obi-Wan in a makeshift ‘shield’.

_ Did I hear that right? Did they just say that the Ad’ika’s bui-master brought him here on a mission, only to abandon him in a war-zone full of Demagolka scum who actively kill Ade so that he could fuck off with his girlfriend?! _

Nield sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, tense muscles relaxing. “I’m sorry, Obi-Wan. I didn’t mean that.” Nield moved forward and settled a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, ignoring the boy’s minute flinch. “You stayed behind to help us, even without your lightsabre. If any of the Jedi are even half as honourable as you, I’m sure that they would come. But that doesn’t mean that I agree to calling them.”

Cerasi stepped forward and pulled Obi-Wan into a hug, glaring at Nield over Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Yeah, I’m sure Nield didn’t mean it.”

Din set a hand hesitantly on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “U-Uh, she’s right kid. Besides, it doesn’t sound like this master of yours deserves you…” Din stepped back and awkwardly cleared his throat. “But, is it true that this master of yours took your weapon? I don’t know much about the Jedi, but every one that I’ve met used a laser sword. And was Bantha-shite at aiming a blaster.”

Obi-Wan’s pale cheeks flushed a deep red as he nodded silently against Cerasi’s shoulder, mumbling under his breath. “They’re called Lightsabres…”

Din nodded and reached under his cape, feeling the Darksabers at his hip hum in anticipation. Before he could grab the outermost hilt, an unseen force pushed the other neglected hilt into his palm. Din gave the mental equivalent of a shrug. Who was he to question the divine will of a magic glow sword, Din thought to himself as the hilt hummed smugly in his hand.

“Here, take this. You can borrow it until you get one of your own. I’m not having a kid run around with a weapon he’s not trained with when I have an alternative.” Din held out the hilt to Obi-Wan, the ‘Saber humming so loud that he could almost taste its anticipation in the air.

Obi-Wan’s wide turquoise eyes flicked between Din;s visor and his outstretched hand, face slack with shock. “Y-You have a Lightsabre? Are you a Jedi? Did my- Master Jinn send you?”

Din’s heart broke at the fragile hope in the Ad’ika’s eyes. “Sorry kid, but I’m not a Jedi, and I don’t know who this ‘Master Jinn’ is.” Din spat out the name of the Shabuir who had abandoned his Ad in a war-zone, the name leaving a foul taste in his mouth. “I just crash landed here yesterday.”

“Oh.” Din’s heart sank as Obi-Wan deflated, bright eyes turning dull in disappointment. “Well, that’s to be expected. I disobeyed my Master’s orders, so I have no right to call myself his Padawan, so he has no reason to come to my aid…”

_ Somehow that sounds familiar…  _ Din thought silently to himself.

“Well.” Din turned to Nield. “You hired me to help you take care of the Elders. You’ve all managed extremely well by yourselves, surviving with no training, and little to no supplies against fully grown adults. You all have my respect.” Din inclined his helmet. “I would like to join one of your standard missions to see how you operate, and what is effective against these Elders. But I have two conditions, first, no Young under the age of thirteen, and second, I get to show you how to hold a blaster.” Din wiggled the offered Darksabre hilt until Obi-Wan hesitantly took it.

Nield nodded firmly, a determined look on his face. “We were planning a strike on an armoured convoy…“

SWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSW

Jaster sighed as Silas prodded him for at least the hundredth time on their Journey to Mandalore. “Come on, Mand’alor, what order do you use the cutlery at dinner?”

“Work from the outside in.” Jaster replied exasperatedly. His new second had been interro-quizzing him on the ins and outs of etiquette so that Jaster wouldn’t make a fool of himself in front of the competition. Jaster had appreciated the help in the beginning, since jaster was more suited to combat, and hadn’t spent a say learning any etiquette outside of saying thank you and chewing with his mouth shut, but once the tenth hour of non-stop lessons had passed, Jaster was getting a little tired.

“We’re pulling up to Sundari now, Mand’alor!” The pilot of their converted troop carrier called out. The ship jolted slightly as they passed through the biodome encircling the city of Sundari, before setting down gently outside the palace.

“Alright! I know that no one wants to be here, and you all would much rather be tracking down the Beroya.” Murmurs of agreement rose from the collected Commandos. “But as your Mand’alor, I am not above petty bribes!” Jaster winked. “If you all manage to behave yourself, you all get priority in presenting your gifts to Beroya, barring myself of course.” Jaster’s words gained an excited whoop from his Commandos. “Now then, let’s go annoy some pacifists!”

With no further ado, Jaster hit the release for the landing ramp and descended into the blinding light of the Biodome lights, his Commandos hot on his heels.

SWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSW

“AARGHHHH!” A half full wine glass smashed against the pristine walls of Senator Sheev Palpatine’s office. “After all the time and money I invested in Death Watch, they go and get themselves killed before they can fulfil their end of the bargain?!” Palpatine shrieked within the safety of his soundproofed walls.

Palpatine took a deep breath, forcing himself to reapply the glamour over his sickly yellow eyes. It wouldn’t do if someone walked in to witness his true form. After the suspicion surrounding the disappearance of his last aide, Palpatine didn’t need any more scrutiny, at least before he secured his seat as Supreme Chancellor.

An evil smirk spread across Palpatine’s face. “Well, not all is lost. There should be enough Death Watch Remnants to draw Mereel to Galidraan and fulfil their end of the bargain. I’ll just have to increase the intensity of my mind tricks on Dooku to speed along the process so that will be impulsive enough to forgo an investigation…”

Palpatine cackled maniacally to himself, a feeling of sick anticipation welling in his chest. The boy that he had stolen from Dathomir was breaking beautifully and would soon be fit to take his place as Palpatine’s apprentice. He would look forward to the look on Plageius’ face as he looked into Palpatine’s eyes as the life slowly drained from his broken body…

_ Soon. _


	14. Ambush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy finally the promised ass kicking of the Elders!

Din held his scope up to his visor, observing the approaching convoy. “What did you say that they were carrying again?” Din asked quietly. “It can’t be regular supplies, not with the amount of security on this thing.” Din and a group of around Nine Young, including Obi-Wan and Nield crouched atop a toppled building, watching their target inch along the cracked road below.

There were at least twenty armed guards on the ground, each carrying blaster rifles, walking in a sloppy formation around what looked to be a converted heavy duty troop carrier. _Hmm, looks like every sentient on this hell-hole of a planet makes the same mistake with holding their blasters._ Din thought with a mental smirk. _Well, at least that gives us an instant advantage._ Din thought to himself smugly, a proud smile stretching across his face as he watched the nine or so Young, including Nield, hold their blasters correctly. _That’ll make them more accurate than stormtroopers to be sure, and that’s more than I can say about them with that grip. Besides, they don’t wear armour, so they’ll be way easier to kill than those Hut’uun Demagolka Death Watch._ Din bared his teeth in a vicious grin.

“I don’t know.” Nield shook his head. “I’ve never seen this much security on a convoy before. Not even for bacta.”

“Alright, well it’s gotta be valuable. Ok, are the roadblocks in place?” Din asked, satisfied at the answering nod from both Obi-Wan and Nield. “Right, on my signal.” Din held a single open hand in the air, watching as the convoy inched along at a slow crawl with bated breath.

Once the heavy troop carrier was over the wide drain cover, Din clenched his fist shut, signalling the beginning of the operation. Din heard the distinctive click of a remote detonator button, and watched as the trap that they had constructed out of the stolen Death Watch supplies exploded, grinning at the near silent whoops of delight behind him.

The packed explosives exploded in a sundance of brilliant oranges and reds. The shards of metal that Din had helped the young pack in the bombs ripped through the air and tore through the tires of the troop carrier. The convoy jolted with the blast and swerved sharply to the side, crashing into one of the broken buildings littering the destroyed city-scape. It wouldn’t be moving anytime soon.

The Young behind him hefted their blasters and prepared to move in, but were halted by Din holding up a silent hand. Din’s eyes locked onto the drivers side of the troop carrier as the door swung open with a resounding clang. An elder, bleeding from his ears, hopped out of the downed troop carrier.

Din’s heart clenched as he caught the sight of a tiny Ad’ika held in the arms of the Elder in a brutal chokehold, blaster pressed against their clammy temple.

Distressed whispers rose from the gathered Young. Nield leaned into Din’s side, whispering harshly into the side of Din’s helmet. “The Elders have never taken prisoners before! What are they doing?!”

Din ignored the question, taking a second to survey the changed situation. Judging by the missing fingernails and the purpling bruises peeking out from the Ad’ika’s tattered shirt, it was pretty obvious what the Elders planned to do with the captured Ade. Din quelled the burning rage in his chest down into a forced calm. Anger made people sloppy, and Din would _not_ take that chance with an Ad’ika’s life.

_Change of plan. This is something that the young haven’t dealt with before, and with no experience, it’s too risky to have them handle a hostage situation like this._ Din shook his head in a signal to wait. _That Elder’s hands are shaking. He’s gripping the blaster too tight. Any sudden noise or surprise is gonna make him squeeze that trigger reflexively. That means that blaster fire and explosives are out. Revealing our position and numbers with a frontal assault is also out. It might make him kill the hostage out of pure spite. That leaves only one option…_

“Hey, kid.” Din said softly, catching Obi-Wan’s attention. “How are you with that laser sword?” Din felt an involuntary smile cross his face at the mumbled ‘Lightsabre’.

“I’m proficient in form one, Shii-Cho, and my Master began to train me in form four, Ataru.” Obi-Wan said, reverently running fingers across the hilt of his borrowed Darksaber and smiling at the pleased hum he got in return.

“That means nothing to me, kid. I’m gonna take that as a yes. Think you can handle going up against sentients with that thing?” Din asked. While he knew that Obi-Wan had likely killed before with a blaster, it was pretty unavoidable in a war, Din knew that killing with an impersonal distance weapon felt entirely different than killing up close and personal with a melee weapon.

Obi-Wan’s soft turquoise eyes hardened in determination. “Yes.”

Din nodded in affirmation. He trusted Obi-Wan to know his own limits. “Good. Here’s what we’re going to do. Nield, you and the other Young keep yourselves hidden up here, and keep the Elder talking and distracted for as long as you can. Obi-Wan, you’re with me. We’re gonna circle around the back in a pincer manouver and kill or neutralise as many of them as possible. Stealthily. Nield, have your best sharpshooter keep that Elder in their sights, and have them shoot as soon as the Elder’s blaster is pointed away from the hostage.”

Nield and Obi-Wan nodded solemnly at Din’s words, deadly serious and determined now that they had a goal to work towards. “Good. On me, Kid.”

With no further ado, Din and Obi-Wan began their descent down the collapsed building, Nield’s negotiating masking their movements. Not that they needed it. _What, is this kid part Tooka or something? He doesn’t make a sound when he moves…_

In what seemed like a blink of an eye, Obi-Wan and Din came to a stop behind the armed escort. All of the Elders’ backs were turned to them, successfully distracted by Nield’s passionate stalling.

In smooth practiced motions, Obi-Wan drew the Darksabre from his belt and activated the black blade, casting dancing shadows across the Ad’ika’s determined face.

Din brought up a hand to point first at Obi-Wan, then towards the Elders on the left, splitting the twenty Elders ten each, not including the leader with the hostage up front. With a silent nod, Obi-Wan stalked off towards the unaware Elders. Satisfied that he had gotten his point across, Din drew his beskar spear off of his back, ignoring the indignant hum of the Darksaber at his hip. _Calm down. I’d rather not risk the lives of Ade just to try out a weapon that I have no training with._ Din mentally pleaded with the irritated ‘Sabre, only to jolt in shocked surprise as the Darksabre quietened down with a reluctant grumble of assent. _What? Did it actually hear me?_

Din shook his head to clear his thoughts. He could think about this later when there weren’t children in danger.

Din crept silently up behind the first Elder, bringing his spear up around their throat, cutting off their surprised yell. Din heaved them backwards and behind a pile of rubble, yanking the shaft of the spear up and to the side until a sickly crack rang out through the air, and the body in his arms went limp.

Din switched the spear to his least-dominant hand and brought up his arm, aiming carefully at the closest lone Elder. Din released his whipcord and watched in satisfaction as it wrapped tightly around the Elder’s neck, squeezing until the only sounds that escaped them were strangled gasps. Din activated the release of his whipcord and brought up the point of his spear. He watched as the choking Elder was yanked backwards, gaining speed with each passing second until they were impaled neatly on Din’s outstretched spear, the tip protruding from their chest.

Din planted a foot in the Elder’s back, kicking them off of his spear until they crumpled to the ground with a wet _slop._ Din took the chance to survey the situation from his position crouched behind the rubble. _Good, there’s only one more Elder behind the troop carrier. If I take them out and free the rest of the Ade, there’s less chance of casualties._

Before Din could begin his advance towards the lone Elder, a stary thought struck him. _How’s the kid doing? I haven’t heard anything so he probably hasn’t been caught._ Din swivelled his helmet to the left to check on the Kid’s progress, only to freeze in shocked surprise. _What in the…_ Obi-Wan had demolished all but one of the Elders on the left, leaving dismembered corpses in his wake.

Obi-Wan stalked towards the last remaining Elder on his side, Darksabre held aloft in a vertical position parallel to the right side of his head. The Elder must have caught sight of the shadows dancing across the ground, as they spun around with a yell, firing a blaster bolt at Obi-Wan. For a split second, Din’s heart clenched, sure that he was about to watch an Ad’ika under his protection meet his end. But before the blast could hit, Obi-Wan brought up his ‘Sabre in a movement so fast that Din’s eyes almost weren’t able to follow it, before swiping the bolt right out of the air and deflecting it back at the Elder, knocking the blaster right out of their hands. The Elder fell back with a yell of pain, Obi-Wan stepped forward and brought his ‘Sabre down in a brutal arc, severing their head from their shoulders before they could hit the ground.

_Kriffing hell. Mandokarla… Maybe I could convince him to teach me a couple of moves…_ Din thought to himself in awe at the sheer skill of the Ad’ika.

Unfortunately, the yell of the downed Elder had attracted the attention of the remaining group, their heads snapping to the side to search for the origin of the unexpected noise. The Elder holding the Ade hostage let his blaster dip slightly in surprise, and the moment of inattention cost him his life as a blaster bolt burnt a hole between his eyes.

At the sight of their leader crumpling lifelessly to the ground, the eight remaining Elders turned their blasters to the Troop carrier, intending to take the kids down with them.

Biting back a curse, Din sprinted forward towards the lone Elder at the back of the troop carrier. No Ade would be dying on his watch. Once he was within range, Din brought the shaft of his spear round in a crushing arc, swiping the Elder’s ankles out from under them shots from their blaster passing harmlessly over his head. The sickening crunch of crushed bone was drowned out by a volley cover fire, courtesy of the young. The Elder’s strangled scream of pain devolved into a wet wheeze as Din drove the tip of his spear through their throat, watching in satisfaction as thick black blood gurgled out of their gaping mouth.

Wasting no time, Din exchanged the spear for the Darksabre and sliced effortlessly through the blaster proof doors of the troop carrier. Yanking the mangled doors open, Din’s blood boiled as he was met with the sight of three children shackled to the walls of the troop carrier. Every Ad bore the same injuries as the one outside. Missing fingernails, whip marks, and vivid bruises. The sight of their tiny bound bodies brought back a memory of a small green form held at ‘Sabre point, freezing Din in his tracks.

Forcefully shaking off the image, Din advanced towards the bound children, slicing their bonds away effortlessly, the Darksabre humming with vicious satisfaction in his grip. As the last child was freed, the noises of blaster fire and the heady thrum of a Darksabre died down. _It’s over…_

“Come on kids, why don’t we get you back to your family?”

SWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSW

Unseen by the victorious Young, the flash of a recording device flickered from behind a collapsed building. With the fight over, the hidden Elder halted the recording with shaking hands. The last minute decision to break away from the group seemed to have paid off.

The surviving Elder took great care in editing out any shots of the Young, and the Jedi with the freaky black glowstick, leaving only clips of the silver Mandalorian brutally murdering members of the Daan.

_Hahaha! Now we really have a shot at winning this war once and for all! If I send this directly to the Jedi council instead of the Senate, they’ll have no choice but to send help to assist the Daan when they see that we’re up against an outside party! Especially a Mandalorian! Jedi hate the Mandalorians right? They’ll send more than a single Jedi this time for sure! And they’ll be on our side too!_ The Elder thought victoriously to themselves as they checked over the final copy of the recording, nodding in satisfaction as all traces of the Young were erased.

The Elder didn’t notice that his hands were shaking so much that they missed the ‘Save Copy’ button before they hit send…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please comment! They really make my day and make me incredible happy!!!!
> 
> Hut'uun- Extreme insult, coward  
> Ad- Child  
> Ad'ika- Child, affectionate  
> Ade- Children  
> Demagolka- Monster, one that would hurt a child


	15. 'Peace' Talks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! Sorry I missed posting yesterday! I had some last second Uni work pop up! 
> 
> Oh, and before y'all come for me, I've mashed up the timeline for my own nefarious purposes (As is evident by Obi-Wan and Jango being almost the same age lolol), so the members of the Jedi Council are post Stark Hyperspace War and Galidraan, plus Tyvokka (44BBY) cause I'm way more familiar with the later council, and I don't trust myself to write the older members correctly lolol

Jaster would give literally  _ anything  _ to get out of his current situation.

Jaster and his group of six Commandos, including Silas, had touched down on Sundari a couple of hours ago, and instead of showing them to their rooms, their hosts had ‘graciously’ invited Jaster and his Haat’ade to dinner. Now both groups were sat around a ridiculously large and ornate dining table, Jaster’s Commandos squirming unhappily in the awkward silence as they waited for their food to arrive. Though Jaster for one was grateful for the seven metre gap between himself and Kryze’s councillors afforded by the colossal rectangular table.

Jaster had never thought that he’d say it, but he’s glad for Silas’ etiquette (torture) sessions. Even with the last-minute cramming, Jaster was baffled by the sheer amount of non-necessary cutlery and tableware.  _ Why can’t we just use one knife and fork? We’d be vulnerable to attack during all the extra time we would have to take to clean this up!  _ Jaster thought incredulously. Who even needed three different cups?

While they waited for the food to arrive, Jaster took the chance to size up Kryze and his protection detail while his visor still hid his gaze. The Duke was trussed up in layer upon layer of soft blue silk, not a weapon or piece of armour in sight. The same could be said of the man’s ‘guards’, who stood to attention by the single large open entrance to the dining room, shock batons clenched tightly in their gloved hands.

Jaster’s lip curled in derision behind his helmet.  _ How dare they claim to be Mandaloran.  _ Jaster thought furiously to himself, clenching his hands beneath the table to calm his rising fury.  _ Not only do they refuse to wear out ancestral armour, one of the key tenants of being a Mando’ade, they do not even carry a weapon. How do they plan to protect their own Ade if they can’t even protect themselves? _

__

Jaster eyed the wall length windows with disgust. The large windows would make the room’s occupants an easy target for any sharpshooter. The only entrance and exit to the dining room was large and open and couldn’t serve as a chokepoint in the event of an invasion. There were no rafters on the ceiling to perch in with a jet pack. There was nothing, bar the table itself, that could be used as cover.

Jaster’s ire grew as he cast his eyes around the airy dining room. This is what they are claiming to be the Yaim B’Mand’alor? This is the least defensible room I have ever been in, and I’ve been to Coruscant… Traditionally, the palace of the Mand’alor was supposed to be easily defendable, both to allow the Mand’alor to defend their aliit, and to act as a last sanctuary for the people of Mandalore if the city were to fall. Jaster could name three examples off of the top of his head where the Mand’alor’s palace served as a last defence and haven to their people when Mandalore was invaded by outside forces. But this… This was a mockery of the ideals that any Mandalorian, even those Hut’uun Death Watch, hold dear…

A sudden rustling of cloth behind Jaster had him and his Commandos reaching reflexively for their stun blasters, ready to neutralise the unseen threat. Cathcing himself before he could draw his weapon, Jaster raised his hand in the universal signal for stop, halting his Haat’ade mid draw. He would not give Kryze another excuse to call for aid against the Haat’ade’s ‘violent warmongering’ ways.

“Ah, food is served.” Adonai said placidly, gesturing behind Jaster and his bristling Commandos with a single pale hand that looked as if it had never seen a day’s blaster training in its life. Jaster would have snorted if he wasn’t physically restraining himself from drawing a weapon. He reckoned that any Haat’ade Ad over the age of seven would be able to beat Kryze in a fair fight.

At the Duke’s signal, the source of the rustling noise revealed themselves to be a group of ten servants each carrying a serving platter of-  _ Ugh. What even is that?  _ Jaster fought the instinct to lean away and draw one of the many vibro-blades hidden on his person as one of the servants leaned over him to deposit a shallow bowl filled with some sort of unappetising grey goop before him. The goop wobbled menacingly as the bowl  _ clacked  _ lightly against the hardwood table. Out of the corner of his eye, Jaster could see his fellow Haat’ade leaning back as far as they could in their seats, recoiling from the threatening goop.  _ What is this, some kind of psychological warfare? _

Across the table, Kryze and his councillors began to dig into the grey goop, humming in pleased satisfaction as they chewed, savouring the flavour.

Not to be outdone, Jaster determinedly unsealed his helmet, the other Commandos following his lead, and picked up the outermost tiny spoon. Jaster bit back a gag as he dug the spoon into the goop.  _ Why does it have so much resistance? What the kriff? It feels solid!  _ After watching the sliver of grey goop wobble on his spoon for a couple of seconds, Jaster steeled himself and stuffed the ‘food’ in his mouth.

Immediately, Jaster struggled not to spit the goop out, as the most disgusting, bland taste he had ever had the displeasure of sampling spread across his tongue. Jaster was almost unable to swallow as his throat closed up in a visceral reaction to the goop’s slimy texture. Jaster forwent chewing, instead deciding to swallow the spoonful down whole.  _ You know what, scrap the pacifism, this is how I know that they aren’t true Mandalorians. I think that the hottest spice they used in this dish is milk…  _ Jaster thought incredulously to himself, poking the goop with his spoon and watching it spring back into shape before a wicked thought crossed his mind.  _ Maybe I should bring some back for Jango and Arla… _

__

Unable to force himself to take another bite, Jaster set his spoon down, biting down a smirk as his Haat’ade followed his lead with a unanimous sigh of relief. “Thank you for this…” Jaster glanced derisively at his bowl. “… Lovely dinner, Kryze. But I came here to work out a compromise between the Haat’ade and the New Mandalorians and I can’t be away from my people for so long. Not after the power vacuum left within Death Watch after Vizsla’s death. I also have some- ah, pressing matters that I need to return to as soon as possible.”

Jaster stubbornly fought down the heat rising up the back of his neck at the thought of Beroya. He didn’t even want to think of the head start that Rhydor and Jango’s task force could have while Jaster was stuck with Kryze’s torure goop.  _ Although, they didn’t have much to go on by the time I left…  _ Jaster thought smugly to himself.

Kyrze set down his spoon with a soft  _ clink,  _ slowly dragging his eyes up and down Jaster’s black and red armour _.  _ “Well Mereel, I believe that I specified that these were to be  _ peaceful  _ talks, so I see no reason to commence while you are wearing all of that…” Jaster gritted his teeth against a rising surge of rage as Kryze visibly bit back an insult. “Unnecessary plating.”

One of Jaster’s Commandos slammed her hands down on the stable, causing their almost completely untouched goop wobble so hard that it almost jumped out of the bowl. “How dare you?! How dare you insult our Mand’alor?! Were these not ‘Peace talks’, I would make you eat your own teeth-” Jaster cut off her tirade with a single raised hand, eyes locked on Kryze.

“Stop.” Jaster watched with vicious satisfaction as the colour faded from Kryze’s pallid face, a drop of sweat rolling down the side of his forehead and darkening the collar of his robes.

Jaster leaned forward, propping up his chin on his interlocked hands. “My demands for this peace talk are simple: We don’t have to fight. I don’t desire ‘galactic domination’ nor do I have any grand ideals to gatekeep who gets the ‘right to call themselves a Mandalorian like you or Vizsla.” Kryze lunged forward in his chair and opened his mouth to argue the comparison, but Jaster held up a single gloved hand, halting the tirade in its tracks. “I simply want to protect my people, and allow people the right to proudly celebrate being a Mandalorian without having to met a set of impossible standards.” Jaster inclined his head, staring Kryze dead in the eye. “The only requirements to being a Mandalorian is to follow the Manda, protect our Aliit and Ade, and…” Jaster gave Kryze a withering look up and down. “Wear our armour.”

Jaster held his intense eye contact with Kryze for a few more seconds, taking pleasure in watching the man squirm. “If you concede the title of Mand’alor, I will grant you a seat on my council in a non-combat position, and allow your people to either wear, or forgo our armour as  _ they  _ decide, and live as non-combatants if they so wish, and will be allowed to label themselves as a new, separate branch of Mandalorians. But.” Jaster sat back in his seat. “They have no right to criticise or belittle any of us for following our beliefs as your people so like to do, and we will afford you the same courtesy.”

Kryze bared his teeth in a snarl, shooting to his feet. Jasters Commandos each drew their stun blasters, and trained them on Kryze’s heaving chest. “I will not compromise on my beliefs. To compromise is to sully my and my daughter’s pure intentions. Your barbaric ways are not the ways of a true Mandalorian!” Kryze’s bare hands clenched so hard that his knuckles whitened with effort. “My daughter is currently undertaking her education on Coruscant, and she studied the…” Kryze curled his lip at the Haat’ade’s blasters. “Civilised way of the core. I will not stand by as Mandalore is left behind in the violent and crude ways of the past.”

“Crude?!” Jaster’s thin hold on his temper finally snapped. “Crude?! You would commit cultural genocide for the selfish need to keep your own hands clean? You would ignore the pleas of your own people?!” Jaster threw one arm out to the side to indicate his angered Commandos.

A determined, slightly manic glint entered Kryze’s eyes. “I will do what I have to.”

“Now, now. These are supposed to be  _ peaceful  _ talks, ‘Mand’alor.’” A slightly condescending voice rung out from the corner of the room. Jaster’s head snapped to the side, hand instictivley drawing the vibro-blade hidden in his boot as a cloaked figure seemed to melt out of the shadows. The newcomer’s long brown hair swayed with their movements as they subtly shifted to the side to expose the lightsaber at their hip. “Now, how about you put away your weapons and we continue with these peaceful talks like civilised gentlebeings, hmm?”

The confrontational snarl melted off of Kryze’s face at the newcomer’s arrival, replaced by a simpering smile. “Master Jinn! Thank you for the assistance! Now that you’re here, perhaps we can continue these talks on even ground?”

Jaster felt his hair stand in end as the Jedi tilted his head with an indulgent smile. “As you say, Duke Kryze. Ah, where are my manners?” The Jedi turned back to Jaster, looking down his nose at him and his Commandos. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, I am Jedi Master Qui Gon Jinn, and I will be overseeing these peace talks on behalf of the Jedi Order. Now, shall we continue?”

SWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSW

“What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know, Creche master! He’s been screaming for someone called Booeer for the past hour, and no one can calm him down!”

“Do you know who this Booeer is?”

“No, we’ve tried asking him, but he keeps sending back an image of a Mandalorian in unpainted beskar!”

“Notify Master Plo-Koon. He has an inexplicable way with children.”

“Yes, Creche Master!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please leave a comment! I may not be able to answer them all since I post everyday, but I read them all and they make me insanely happy!
> 
> Yaim B'Mand'alor- Home of the Mandalor, I just mashed up some Mando'a words lmaoo  
> Aliit- Clan, Family  
> Ade- Children  
> Hut'uun- Extreme insult, coward


	16. An Unexpected Message

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: I am a loyal Din Djarin simp!

Quinlan Vos heaved a deep sigh and slumped face first across the desk, groaning as he felt multiple sheets of flimsi stick to his face. _Who knew that the Jedi council would take putting soap in the water pumps of the room of a thousand fountains so seriously?_ Quinlan thought miserably to himself, peeling a mission report off of his face.

After the _Glorious_ prank that Quinlan had managed to pull off without his partner in crime, the Jedi Council had decided to punish Quinlan by saddling him with the Council’s secretarial duties for an entire month. _Punishment? Pfft, they just don’t want to do their own paperwork!_ Quinlan inwardly scoffed to himself, miserably dragging a datapad towards himself without lifting his face from the desk.

_Ugh, I bet I wouldn’t have been caught if Obi were here…_ Quinlan thought glumly to himself. Pranks had never been the same after Obi-Wan had supposedly ‘left the order because of his attachment to a girl’. Yeah right. Quinlan knew Obi-Wan better than that kriff-head of a ‘Master’ that Obi-Wan had apprenticed under for a little over a year, and there’s absolutely no _way_ that Obi would ever betray his friends and family back at the order for a _girl._ Obi-Wan liked men for _kriff’s sake!_ But had the Council listened to Quinlan? No! Not even his own Master had believed him!

Master Tahl hadn’t woken up yet, so Quinlan couldn’t ask her about what had actually happened, and who would take the word of the famed ‘Negotiator’ over a mere Padawan. _Well, if there’s one good thing that came from this mess, it’s that Master Tahl is safe…_ Quinlan sighed inwardly, straightening in his seat to begin slogging through the backlog of Council paperwork.

A sudden shrill beep from the monitor startled Quinlan into dropping his datapad with a curse. _A message? Directly to the Jedi Council?_ Quinlan thought incredulously to himself. No one had sent a request directly to the Jedi without going through the Senate in years! _Now I’m curious…_ Quinlan cleaned off the thick layer of dust on the monitor’s screen with the sleeve of his Padawan robes, coughing as the thick cloud of dirt burned his throat.

“Lets see, lets see, what have we got here…” Quinlan mumbled to himself as he selected the flashing notification. “The Daan?!” Quinlan’s eyes widened so much that his eyes threatened to pop out of his skull. _Isn’t that where Jinn left Obi?!_ Quinlan quickly scanned the contents of the message, mumbling the words out loud under his breath. “Please send help, the Daan are being slaughtered by an invading force of violent Mandalorians. This is a dire situation and we are in need of urgent assistance…”

With every word that he read, Quinlan felt the slick knowing anxiety in the pit of his stomach grow stronger. _Mandalorians? Don’t they steal Jedi children and torture them? Oh little force gods, Obi!_ Quinlan caught sight of an attached file at the bottom of the message. _Oh gods, I don’t know if I want to open this… What if it’s Obi…_ Quinlan steeled himself and took the plunge, opening the attached holofile.

The first thing that struck him was- _Wow, that’s really shoddy camera wor- hoLY SHIT OBI-WAN!_ Quinlan’s mouth dropped open as Obi-Wan danced gracefully across the screen, cutting down adult after adult with a- _Is that a kriffing black lightsaber?! That’s so cool! Where did he get it from though? He can’t have been to Illum, and Jinn took Obi’s lightsaber when he left._

Quinlan swallowed as the camera panned over to the right and had to pause the video to fight down the confusing mix of emotions swelling in his chest. Firstly, those assholes had a kid that couldn’t be more than nine years old at gunpoint, and even with the large distance, Quinlan could still make out the hallmarks of torture. _What the kriff is going on in that hellscape?! And how could Jinn just leave Obi there?! Now I_ **_know_ ** _that Obi didn’t stay behind for a kriffing girl! I have to tell the council about this!_

Quinlan stood up from his seat so fast that the chair clattered to the floor with a deafening clang. But before Quinlan could dash out of the room, a bright flash of silver caught from the holo-vid caught his attention. 

Quinlan’s jaw dropped for the second time as the previously mentioned Mandalorian took out two of the child abusing bastards with terrifying efficiency. But what really set Quinaln’s heart pounding was when the remaining adults (Daan?) caught on to what was happening, and turned their blasters towards a crashed vehicle. Quinlan choked on a wheeze as the Mandalorian took out another adult before drawing an identical black lightsaber to the one Obi-Wan was wielding. _What the kriff? There’s two?! But not gonna lie, that was kinda hot…_

Quinlan shook his head to clear his impure thoughts as the camera panned back over to Obi-Wan, who had flipped over the top of the carrier and was laying into the remaining seven adults on the Mandalorian’s side, taking them out with a deadly mix of Ataru and Shii-Cho. _Damn Obi… You’ve been holding out on me…_

Once all of the adults had been taken care of, Obi-Wan darted forward and caught the hostage child before they could tumble to the ground without their captor propping them up. Quinlan’s heart clenched as the camera finally got a good shot of Obi-Wan while he had stopped moving. The red-heads normally plump, freckled cheeks had sunken into sickly hollows telling of extended periods of starvation and Obi-Wan’s robes that had fitted him when he had left the temple now hung off of his borderline skeletal frame. As the hostage child brought up their arms to squeeze weakly at Obi-Wan’s waist, Obi-Wan stroked a bony hand gently through the child’s hair. The sleeves of Obi-Wan’s loose robes slid down his arm, revealing lurid purple bruising running up his arm and disappearing into his sleeve.

“Oh Obi…” Involuntary tears of sympathy burned at Quinlan’s eyes at the state of his best friend. Bant was going to be heartbroken…

The camera shifted once again, this time showing the back of the crashed transport just as the Mandalorian emerged, several children in the same sorry state as the hostage trailing along behind him like ducklings, hands clenched tightly into the Mandalorian’s cape. The holo-vid cut off, signalling the end of the video.

_Those lying bastards…_ Quinlan clenched his teeth against the rising surge of rage, before tamping down on it and releasing it into the force as best as he could. _They didn’t mention their abuse of literal children anywhere in that request. Neither did Jinn in his mission report either actually…_

Quinlan bared his teeth in a slightly feral grin. Now the Council would have to listen to his misgivings about Jinn. Quinlan would take pleasure in watching Master Tyvokka tear Jinn a new one. Moving swiftly, Quinlan copied the Daan’s message and the attached holo-vid onto a separate data-pad before sending himself a copy. Well, Obi-Wan had done him the disservice of leaving Quinlan alone in a temple full of uptight Jedi Masters, Quinlan deserved a little payback.

That holo-vid was going to get Quinlan so many followers.

SWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSW

“Well, what appears to be the problem, Creche Master?” Plo-Koon asked pleasantly, hands clasped neatly behind his back as shrill screaming echoed off of the Creche’s high walls.

“Master Plo-Koon!” The Creche Master, a raven haired human woman with dark circles under her eyes ran over, a harried look on her haggard face. “Thank you for coming so quickly! One of our crechelings is in distress and we can’t get through to him enough to find out what’s wrong!”

“Ah yes, I gathered as much.” Plo-Koon tilted his head in amusement as the screaming grew in pitch. “If you would direct me to the child, I will see what I can do.”

The Creche Master sighed out in evident relief and motioned for Plo-Koon to follow after her. After a few minutes of trekking through the Creche’s winding halls, they reached the tall wooden doors of a side room. Taking a step back, the Creche Master respectfully inclined her head at the door, then turned tail and beat a hasty retreat back down the halls.

A low chuckle escaped through Plo-Koon’s breathing mask as he pushed open the heavy doors. Immediately, Plo-Koon’s eyes were drawn to a single crib placed in the centre of the room, eyes following the tiny green fists that waved through the air. _Ah, Grogu._

“Hello there, little one.” Plo-Koon crooned, gently shutting the doors behind him as he picked his way across the room. “I hear that you’re causing quite the ruckus.” Plo-Koon reached his hands into the crib and cradled the small child in his arms. “Wow, you’ve grown so much since I last visited!”

A gentle smile involuntarily spread across Plo-Koon’s face beneath his mask Grogu’s cries dwindled, and his tiny clawed hands bunched in the front of Plo-Koon’s robes. Plo-Koon gently ran a finger down one of Grogu’s large ears as he rocked him from side to side, humming soothingly as he waited for the child’s distressed cries to quieten down. _It really is remarkable how fast he’s grown! He’s a whole two centimetres taller than when I last visited a few months ago! That’s astronomical with how long lived Master Yoda and Master Yaddle’s species is, it’s like he aged forty years overnight!_

Eventually, Grogu’s wailing cries calmed into quiet sniffles as the child buried its tiny face into Plo-Koon’s robes. “There we go, Little One. Now, tell me, what’s gotten you so upset?” Plo-Koon squeezed Grogu’s form lightly against his chest, enjoying the feeling in the force of a child placing his trust in him, kicking his paternal instincts into overdrive.

Grogu pulled his face out of Plo-Koon’s chest just far enough to reveal two teary brown eyes staring up at Plo-Koon sorrowfully.

“There you are!” Plo-Koon rubbed a single finger between Grogu’s ears, watching those teary eyes close in contentment. “Now, what’s wrong little one?”

Before Plo-Koon had even finished talking, he felt a tentative prodding at his shields. Recognising the clumsy prodding as Grogu’s, Plo-Koon let down his shields and let the child in. Immediately, Plo-Koon was hit by an overwhelming projected feeling of loss and longing, accompanied by a single word. Booeer?

“What does ‘Booeer’ mean Grogu?” Plo-Koon asked, perplexed. ‘Booeer’ didn’t sound like a name, nor was it from any language that Plo-Koon recognised.

Grogu let out a tiny sigh before reaching out once more, this time projecting an image of- _A Mandalorian? How would Grogu know what a Mandalorian looks like?_ Plo-Koon thought to himself, perplexed. _Mandalorians aren’t mentioned in a Crecheling’s standard education until they reach the history modules about the Sith, and Grogu is much too young to be learning about the Sith at this age…_ An apprehensive feeling spread through Plo-Koon’s chest. Surely he would have heard from the Temple rumour mill if a Mandalorian had visited the Temple officially. So that means that this ‘Booeer’ must have visited unofficially.

“Where have you seen this Mandalorian, Grogu? Did they enter the Temple?” Plo-Koon asked worriedly, rubbing soothingly at Grogu’s tiby back.

The child let out an irritated squeak, projecting a strong denial and feeling of longing in the force.

Plo-Koon’s eyes widened behind his mask as he took in the implications of the Youngling’s claims. _If the Mandalorian hasn’t been to the temple, and Grogu hasn’t been taught of the Mandalorians in his education modules yet, that leaves only one possibility…_

“Did you know this ‘Booeer’ before you were left at the temple steps two years ago, Grogu?” Plo-Koon asked with bated breath.

Grogu chirped happily, large floppy ears bouncing as he nodded his head frantically.

_Oh my… This could solve many mysteries regarding Grogu;s abandonment at the Temple, and could maybe reveal more about Master Yoda and Master Yaddle’s species!_ Plo-Koon thought excitedly to himself, spinning Grogu round gently and grinning at the child’s jubilant squeals. “How would you like to go on a quick adventure to meet the Jedi Council, Grogu? I’m sure that we can find out more about your ‘Booeer’ there.”

Grogu held both of his tiny arms up in the air and cooed in agreement.

“Well then little one, on to the Jedi Council we go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please leave a comment! I might not be able to reply to them all, but I read every single one of them and they make me so incredible happy!!! :DDD
> 
> No translations this chapter lol, it's a miracle!


	17. The Council

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayo, please drop some suggestions for space social media names, I'm struggling here lmaooo
> 
> I wanna say holo-tube but that sounds wrong to me lolol

Mace pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to stave off the headache brewing behind his eyes. The Council had been discussing a seemingly endless number of useless topics since the early hours of the morning, and Mace was seriously contemplating jumping out of a window to escape the endless platitudes of the Council. Of Master Yoda in particular. The old frog seemed incapable of actually saying what he meant, instead electing to speak in riddles and leaving everyone to guess at his true meaning. Then whacking them in the shins with his gimmer stick when they guessed wrong, Council member or not. 

I would do literally anything to get out of discussing the rising price of the Temple standard tea blend… Mace thought frustratedly to himself, switching from pinching the bridge of his nose to rubbing at his temples, drowning out the endless drone of Master Poof. 

Suddenly, the large doors of the council chamber swung open with an almost inaudible creak, startling Master Poof out of his passionate spiel regarding the economy of tea. “We aren’t expecting any visitors today, are we?” Poof said uncertainly, long neck swaying with his perplexed head movements. 

“Expecting visitors, we are not.” Yoda hummed, tapping his gimmer stick against the ground. “Enter, you must.”

Mace’s eyebrow rose in surprise as Plo-Koon strode through the entryway, a tiny green Crecheling cradled in his arms. Oh gods, not another one… Mace thought exasperatedly to himself, glancing discreetly at Yoda out of the corner of his eye. Mace didn’t think that he would be able to handle another riddle spouting frog. 

Tyvokka leaned forward in his chair and looked the initiate and Plo-Koon up and down. “Plo. Do you want to tell me why you’ve entered a council meeting unannounced?” Tyvokka tilted his head inquisitively before locking eyes with the crecheling and wiggling his large fingers to amuse the child. “And with a Crecheling no less.”

Plo-Koon inclined his head in respect before launching into a concise report. “Yes Master. I was called to the Creche by the Crechemaster earlier this afternoon. This little one here,” Plo-Koon hefted the Crecheling in his arms, wiggling the tiny body as the initiate burst into giggles, “Was causing quite a ruckus.”

Mace felt the building headache intensify as a particularly sizable shatterpoint began to take form. “And what exactly was the commotion about?” Mace sighed, carefully keeping any evidence of pain off of his stern features. 

Plo-Koon chuckled lowly, bringing the Crecheling back to rest against his chest, where the initiate curled tiny claws into Plo-Koon’s collar. “Now, that’s where it gets interesting, Master Windu. Grogu here was calling for someone named ‘Booeer’ and when asked who this ‘Booeer’ was, Grogu projected an image of a Mandalorian in unpainted pure beskar armour.”

Low murmurs rose from the seated Council at the Kel Dor’s words. The Jedi weren’t exactly on the best of terms with the Mandalorians, not after they had chosen to side with the Sith generations ago, though relations had become far more amicable with the rise of new leadership. So amicable that the current Duke had requested one of the Jedi’s own to serve as an advisor during Mandalorian peace talks. Even so, a Mandalorian had not stepped foot in the Temple in centuries. (Barring the robbery of the Darksaber, but Mace had not had nearly enough caff to think about the implications of such a claim.)

The Kel Dor chuckled as the child cooed softly against Plo-Koon’s neck at the mention of ‘Booeer’, bringing up a finger to stroke soothingly down one floppy ear. “I checked the Temple records and security feeds around the time of Grogu’s outburst, but there were no records of a Mandalorian ever visiting the temple, officially or otherwise, which only leaves one option.” 

Master Yaddle leaned forwards in her seat, an excited gleam in her eyes. “Remember the one who brought him here, he does.” She said knowingly.

Plo-Koon nodded, stroking one hand down Grogu’s back. “Yes, that is what Grogu indicated when I asked. I believe that finding this ‘Booeer’ may lead to more clues regarding Master Yoda’s and Master Yaddle’s elusive species and possibly the whereabouts of other force sensitive children.” Plo-Koon supported the initiate’s head and neck before dipping into a bow. “I came here straight away to request permission to leave on my own mission to locate this ‘Booeer’ while the trail is still warm.” Plo-Koon raised the Crecheling into the air once again, smiling beneath his mask as the initiate waved his arms in the air as if he were on a particularly amusing ride. “I also request that I be able to take little Grogu with me. I fear he may scream the Temple down if he is not permitted to search for this ‘Booeer’.” 

Grogu’s ears wiggled as the crecheling cooed in agreement, approval ringing out through the force. 

Mace sighed and pinched his nose as the shatterpoint grew. “Master Tyvokka, as Koon’s master, do you believe that he has the skills to carry out this mission and protect a Creheling at the same time?” 

Master Tyvokka was silent for a few long seconds, staring at his former Padawan’s face in contemplation, searching for something. Though how he was able to determine the look in the Kel Dor’s eyes behind that breathing mask of his, Mace had no idea. Tyvokka leaned back in his seat, seemingly satisfied at whatever he had seen. “I do. This mission has my full support.”

Plo-Koon bowed to his former Master in gratitude. “My thanks, Master.”

Tyvokka nodded resolutely at his former Padawan, a fond glint in the normally stern Master’s eyes. “Now, let’s put this to a vote. All in favour?”

Mace’s headache grew as the vast majority of the Council raised their hands in agreement.

Tyvokka nodded resolutely. “Very well. Your mission is sanctioned, you may leave as soon as you are ready.” Tyvokka’s gaze softened as he looked upon the happily squirming Grogu. “Take care of the little one, Plo.” 

“Of course Master, I will protect Grogu with my li-”

Bang!

Plo-Koon’s solemn words were cut off by the Council chamber doors slamming open and swinging forcefully into the wall with a resounding crash. 

For the Force’s sake, what now?! Mace rubbed at his temples, clamping down on the rising irritation and releasing it into the force. 

A panting Padawan Vos bustled through the doors, clutching a data-pad in his arms. “Masters- gasp- you have received- gasp- an urgent- gasp- message!” Vos choked out between gulping breaths. 

“Slow down child, what kind of message would warrant an entrance such as this?” Master Mundi asked, tilting his head to the side in confusion. 

“Padawan Vos.” Mace ground out between gritted teeth, the headache building to almost migraine levels of intensity. “Weren’t you supposed to be carrying out your punishment?” 

Vos shook his head breathlessly and instead selected a holo-vid file and thrusted the data-pad n towards master Tyvokka. 

Tyvoka leaned forward and gingerly took the flimsy data-pad between his large hands before hooking it up to the holo-projector in the centre of the room. As the image flickered into existence, the council immediately recoiled in shock at the sight of Obi-Wan dancing across the screen wielding a pitch black lightsaber, moves crisper and more fluid than what Qui-Gon’s progress reports implied. 

“The darksaber…” Master Poof mumbled, large eyes wide in shock. “But that was lost years ago! What is it doing in the hands of a Pada- Youngling?” The Council had no answers as their eyes followed Obi-Wan cutting down adults left and right across the screen, shocked silent at the sight of Qui-Gon’s spurned Padawan wielding the sacred blade of the Mand’alor. 

“What happened to him…” Master Mundi gasped in shock as shadows danced over the dips and valleys where Obi-Wan’s skin clung to his bones, painting a horrifying picture of starvation and neglect.

Tyvokka let out a bone-rattling growl as the shaky camera panned across the carnage of the battlefield before halting on a starved, beaten child being held hostage by one of the adults that Obi-Wan was attacking. “What is this? Jinn made no mention of violence against children in his mission report.” Tyvokka bared his sharp teeth in an almost feral snarl. 

The camera panned back over to a crashed transport, revealing a Mandalorian in unpainted beskar-

BOOEER!

The Council were flung back into their seats at the sheer force of Grogu’s force projection, reeling at the sudden intense deluge of foreign emotion. Longing, pride, and sheer relief battered against the Council’s thick shields.

Well, I guess that answers the question of where ‘Booeer’ is… Mace groaned inwardly, reinforcing his shields as the council recovered around him. Just as the Council had recovered their bearings after the mental blast, they were sent reeling again as the Mandalorian drew an identical saber to what Kenobi had wielded moments before.

Wha-two? Impossible… Mace gaped. There’s only one Darksaber, and it is wielded exclusively by the ruler of Mandalore. Mace’s eyes widened at the implications behind the video. Does that mean that the Mandalorian has claimed the title of Mand’alor, and that he has claimed Kenobi as his own? 

Other members of the Council locked eyes as they came to the same conclusion. Deafening silence rang out through the Council Chambers as the holo-vid came to an end. 

“Master Yoda…” The oppressive silence was broken by Master Tyvokka, his voice more growl than speech as he slowly turned to face the smaller Master. “What has your Grand-Padawan done?” Tyvokka gestured a clawed hand forcefully at the screen. “Shall we make a list?”

Tyvokka held up a single finger. “First- Your Grand-Padawan was sent to Melida-Daan with his Padawan to resolve the age-old conflict between the Melida and the Daan, so I am assuming that this is footage of the conflict that Jinn claimed to be beyond help. Am I right, Vos?” 

Padawan Vos frantically nodded his head, shrinking back at the Wookie Master’s ire. “Yes master Tyvokka. The message came through directly into the Council’s inbox from the Daan, they claimed that they were being invaded by hostile Mandalorians that were slaughtering them and their children.” Hearing the nervous tremor in Vos’ voice, shifted Grogu to the crook of one arm and settled his freed arm around Vos’ shoulders. 

Tyvokka nodded his head in thanks before turning back to the chastened Jedi Master. “Two, Jinn has obviously left out pertinent details from his report, including the war crimes of the Daan against literal children.” Tyvokka held up a third claw. “Third, your Grand-Padawan stated that Obi-Wan left the Order for his attachment for a girl.” Tyvokka waved a hand at the holo-projector, that was paused on a still of Kenobi’s gaunt face. “But it seems here that this isn’t the case.” 

Tyvokka bared his teeth in a furious snarl. “We gave Jinn the benefit of the doubt after what happened with Xanatos and Feemor because of your assurance that Jinn could be trusted with the life of another child. Obi-Wan was one of the most promising Padawan candidates in the Creche, despite his temper, but we heeded your wish to leave him unchosen, so that Jinn would have the chance to find solace in another Padawan. But look at what has happened.” Yoda’s ears drooped at his fellow Master’s words. “We have wronged that boy in more ways than I can possibly count.” The rest of the Council murmured in agreement, shame and guilt souring the force. 

Mace grunted in pain as the shatterpoint broke.

“Vos.” Tyvokka barked, making Padawan Vos jump and shrink into Plo-Koon’s side. At the sight of Vos’ distress, Tyvokka hid his teeth behind his lips and softened his voice, dispelling his righteous ire into the force. “Vos,” Tyvokka spoke softly to the trembling Padawan, “You and Kenobi are close, are you not?”

Vos’ confidence returned as the lingering miasma of shock and accusation dissipated from the Council Chambers. “We are, Master Tyvokka.”

Tyvokka nodded before turning back to the Council. “I propose that Koon and the initiate be joined by Tholme and Vos on their journey to locate ‘Booeer’.” Tyvokka rewound the holo-vid until it showed Kenobi wielding the Darksaber one again. “It appears that the two are working together in order to assist the children of Melida/Daan, which falls in line with what little I know about Mandalorian culture. It also seems that the Mandalorian trusts in Kenobi a great deal, if he trusts him with his Darksaber.” 

Tyvoka turned back to stare Vos in the eye. “I want you to assist Kenobi in any way that you can, and learn more of his treatment under Jinn to use as evidence in our upcoming investigation.”

Yoda opened his mouth to protest, but Tyvokka jumped back in, cutting off the old frog. “With all due respect, Master Yoda, we are launching an investigation into the actions of Jinn and his current mental state. All in agreement?” 

The Council raised their hands in a unanimous agreement, ignoring Master Yoda’s reluctant grumbles.

“As I was saying. Koon, I want you to investigate a potential alliance with the Mandalorians. If their Mand’alor is willing to trust a Jedi with their sacred Darksaber, then they may be willing to enter into a more amicable relationship with the order. And this ‘Booeer’ may be swayed further if he sees that Kenobi places his trust in one of our own.” Tvokka looked pointedly at Vos. “All in favour?”

Once again, the vote was unanimous.

“Now, shall we prepare for our investigation?” Tyvokka locked eyes with Mace, and the two Masters shared a vicious grin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please comment! I might not be able to reply to all of them, but I read ever single one and they make me so unbelievably happy!


	18. We Interrupt Your Daily Transmission...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyy thanks for all of the space social media suggestions! A bunch of them made me ugly cackle, like fuccin MYSPACE omg lmao (Thank you eggssy that thought hasn't left me since yesterday lmaoo) and BeepBoop (TikTok) which is probably the most adorable thing I've ever seen, Thanks Redherring1412! 
> 
> Oh, and thank you Serendipitea for the choice idea that I am definitely going to steal and put in a later chapter ;))))
> 
> But! I have gone with the unholy pun: Twi'ter! Which I am shamelessly stealing from FluffyPizzaPie lolol- The mascot is a Twi'lek!!!

Jango slapped his gloved hand hard against the Beroya task force’s ‘BS’ (Beroya Sightings) board, the meaty thunk echoing through the Haat’Ade’s base camp on Concord Dawn. “Anything new to add to the board?” Jango asked, scanning his eyes over the members of the Beroya Task Force that were strewn across the dusty ground.

“Yes, Alor’Ad!” A Haat’ade in blue called out from the centre of the group, waving their data-pad wildly in the air. “There’s been a sighting of a vaguely shiny silver creature on Yavin Four!”

Jango hummed to himself, turning back to the board and tracing his fingers over the red strings connecting various pictures of vague silver blobs that had been captured in planets in the direction that Beroya had fled from his Buir. The pictures were mostly lifted from conspiracy sites on remote corners of the holo-web. “Hmm, no. It can’t be, those kinds of mining vessels can't store enough hyper fuel to make a jump that far.” Jango stepped back from the board and faced the Task Force once again. “Anything else?”

The distinct sound of beskar impacting durasteel rang out through the air, prompting a wave of stifled chuckles from all present. Immediately, Jango’s eyes shot to a Task Force member sitting near the back of the group, shoulders shaking with laughter at the holo-vid clenched in their hands. Jango knew exactly what they were watching without looking at the screen. He had heard that sound so many times that it would haunt his dreams for decades to come.

Just the thought of his Buir running head first into the side of Beroya’s ship had bright laughter bubbling in Jango’s chest. One of the Haat’Ade had captured the entire thing on their helmet cam, including the Beroya’s triumph over Vizsla and had distributed it amongst the Haat-Ade, making a fortune in the process. Now you couldn’t walk through the Haat’ade camp without hearing either the hum of the Darksabers or Jaster running helmet first into a landing ramp, usually accompanied by groans of ‘appreciation’, or muffled giggles.

_ One thing’s for sure, Buir’s never gonna live that down…  _ Jango thought to himself with a smirk.

Jango brought up a fist and knocked hard on the BS board, the force of his knock sending the red strings vibrating with a humming  _ twang.  _ The snickering Haat’ade stood to attention. “Any other contributions?” The Task Force shook their heads in unison, and Jango turned back to the BS board with a cut off sigh.

“How goes the search, Vod’ika?” Arla’s voice rang out, drawing Jango’s attention to where his Ori’vod had taken up position leaning against a stack of crates. Arla slid off her helmet, the hiss of the seal echoing off of the gathered haat’ade’s beskar’gam. Immediately, his Ori’vod’s eyes were drawn to the board, an incredulous snort leaving her mouth as a single blond eyebrow cocked in amused disbelief as she took in the bags under Jango’s eyes. “Are you Ok Vod’ika? Do you need me to stage an intervention?”

Jango’s lips twitched in annoyance. He was forever grateful that his Ori’vod had been returned to him, and was safe from Death Watch’s slimy grasp, but damn if she couldn’t be annoying. “Oh? Do you think you can do better?”

A cocky smirk specifically designed to irritate Jango spread across Arla’s face as she slipped her helmet under her arm and sauntered over to Jango. Arla came to a stop before Jango and laid a single hand mockingly on his shoulder. “I know so.” She leant forward to whisper in Jango’s ear. “I know Ayet’s plans…”

Jango’s eyes widened in disbelief as he reeled backwards and jabbed a finger into his Ori’vod’s chest plate. “Bullshit!”

Arla swayed back with the poke, a gut laugh shaking her entire frame. “Awww, don’t be upset, oh Ner copikla Vod’ika! Just accept that I’m better than you in every way!”

Jango growled under his breath, annoyance surging in his chest, before taking a deep breath and forced himself to play along. “What do you want...?” Jango mumbled under his breath.

Arla cupped her hand over her ear and leant forward. “Oh? What was that dear brother of mine? I couldn’t quite hear you over the overwhelming sound of my superiority~”

Jango gritted his teeth. “What do you want in exchange for the intel?” He ground out.

Arla snorted, making her way around Jango before coming to a stop in front of the board. “Aww, Vod’ika, your adorable rivalry with Ayet is too good to pass up! I’ll have to leave you in suspense!”

Jango deflated and began to turn away, but the sound of his Ori’vod clearing her throat prompted him to turn back. “But!” Arla bared her teeth in a vicious grin. “I didn’t say that I wouldn’t help you find Beroya.” Arla winked. “That man is too Mandokarla to pass up to someone like Rhydor! Not when Buir is so blatantly smitten!”

An involuntary grin spread across Jango’s face as he remembered catching his Buir watching the holo of Beroya defeating Vizsla on repeat for hours with a bright red flush and a flustered smile bright on his weary face. If there was one thing that Jango and his Ori’vod could agree on, it was that Jaster deserved all the happiness in the galaxy, and Beroya made him the happiest that Jango had seen in years. It also helped that Beroya was prime Buir material, what with his skilful handling of multiple Ade, his skill in combat, and his blatant protectiveness of Ade and the Haat’ade.

“Besides, we’ve both gotta pay off our life-debts.” Arla continued before turning back to the BS board and letting out an impressed whistle. “Wow, Vod’ika! You actually managed to calculate his trajectory and his ship’s fuel capacity! I’m genuinely impressed!”

Jango felt a hot flush build in his cheeks at his Ori’vod’s sincere praise and ignored the crooning cooes of the gathered Task Force. Jango wished not for the first time that he was wearing his helmet so that he could hide his embarrassed smile. The years that they had spent apart had completely decimated Jango’s resistance to both Arla’s teasing and praise. Jango raised a hand to his mouth and awkwardly coughed into his fist. “What did you have in mind?”

Arla threaded an arm around Jango’s shoulders, drawing him tight against her side. “Well, Vod’ika. Let’s look at the facts. What seems to be Beroya’s first priority?”

The Task Force mumbled amongst themselves thoughtfully, listing all of the Beroya’s moves before coming to a single conclusion, realisation lighting up their eyes.

“Exactly!” Arla brought up a single hand into a finger gun. “The Ade! Beroya seems to have a sixth sense and a soft heart for Ade! So the first places we should look along your calculated course, are the systems with the most active conflict and strife!”

Jango’s eyes widened in understanding. Jango turned to the gathered Task Force, a determined glint in his eye. “Split into four groups of three! Each group take a different section of the possible route and do as much research as you can!”

“Yes, Alor’ad!” The Task Force shouted in unison, scooping up their data pads.

Nodding in satisfaction, Jango reached for his own data-pad.  _ Of course! It’s so simple! Why didn’t I think of tha- _

__

“Alor’ad!” 

A Haat’Ade came skidding around the corner, data-pad clutched in their hands. “Look what someone just posted to Twi’ter!”

Jango raised an eyebrow at the username. “VossMan69?” But before he could delve any deeper, the thumbnail of the tweeted Holo-vid caught Jango’s eye, his jaw practically dropping to the ground.

_ Holy shit who is that?! _

__

The thumbnail showed a  _ gorgeous  _ red head in the midst of battle with his arm flung out behind him to shield a younger Ad, bodies of slain adults strewn at his feet like discarded ragdolls. A tiny splatter of blood on the red head’s cheek only brought out the determined glint in his turquoise eyes as he protected the child behind him.  _ Mandokarla…  _ Jango’s eyes roved across the red head’s face, feeling his heart begin to pound as he took in every detail of the beautiful boy before a flash of black at the corner of the image drew his attention.  _ What the kriff?! Is that the kriffing Darksaber?!  _ Jango’s eyes grew so round that they almost popped out of his skull.

_ But the Beroya won it from Vizsla through combat! If this boy is wielding it, then that must mean that he has been claimed as Beroya’s aliit! Well, that’s certainly extra motivation for locating the Beroya!  _ Jango thought to himself, feeling a flush spread across his cheeks as his finger hovered over the play button…

SWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWS

_ Holy shit… _

__

Was the unanimous thought amongst the Task Force, as a large number of their group discretely adjusted their codpieces. Many had retreated behind the safety of their helmets, Jango included, to hide the aroused flush induced by the spectacle shown in the holo-vid. Jango locked eyes with his Ori’vod as many of the Haat’ade retreated to their tents for privacy so that they could take care of ‘personal matters’. Seeing the Beroya absolutely  _ decimate  _ the demagolka in the video while wielding the Darksaber had done  _ things  _ to the watching Haat’ade.

“I’ll analyse the climate and the surroundings of the video and narrow down our options.” Jango said, handing the borrowed data-pad back before grabbing his own. “You look into the person who posted this.”

SWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWS

“Where the Kriff are you, Din’ika?” Boba muttered worriedly under his breath as he strode down Slave I’s landing ramp, Fennec hot on his heels. The tracker that Boba had installed in his Vod’ika’s ship hadn’t moved in two weeks, and Boba was beginning to panic. None of Din’s bounties had ever taken that long to procure before, and Boba was worried that something had happened.

Boba had taken a temporary leave from his palace on Tattoine. He had tried to have Fennec take his place on the throne in his absence, but the assassin had simply given Boba a look of pure derision and refused. Boba snorted inwardly, Fennec may appear apathetic to his Vod’ika’s fate, but Boba knew her well enough to see that she was just as worried about Din as he was.

Boba trusted Din to carry out Boba’s affairs with the utmost care, but he didn’t trust Din to take care of himself at all. Case in point, Boba had to force Din to eat and drink in the early days after he had lost his Ad, and he had only slightly improved since then.

A swell of protective rage burned in Boba’s chest.  _ If anyone has hurt my Vod’ika, I will burn everything they love to the ground. _

__

After a few minutes of walking, the ominous silhouette of his Vod’ika’s ship loomed out of the fog. It was quiet. Too quiet. Boba lifted a hand to signal Fennec to split up and head left. With a silent nod, Fennec split off to round the ship on the left to check the perimeter, finger poised over the trigger of her rifle.

Drawing his own blaster, Boba slowly crept up the landing ramp of the abandoned ship. The first thing that struck him was the thin layer of dust that coated the entirety of the interior. A sharp whistle from Fennec signalled the all clear as the assassins light footsteps tapped up the ramp until she was stood at Boba’s side.

“All clear?” Boba asked, helmet tilted in question.

Fennec inclined her head in answer. “No one for miles.”

With a satisfied nod, Boba jerked his head to the side, signalling for Fennec to follow as he ventured deeper into the ship.

The further they walked, the more uneasy Boba felt. Something wasn’t right. Din wouldn’t just abandon a ship like this, especially if it was Boba’s. Boba had decided to tell Din that he was only lending him the ship, since he was more likely to stay out of situations that may damage it, since the Di’kut seemed to place more value in Boba’s things than his own life. But in reality, the ship was completely Din’s in everything but name.

“Well, that answers where the bounty is.” Fennec raised a brow behind the visor of her helmet, indicating the carbonite freezing unit with her rifle. The lying, deadbeat moisture farmer was encased in the carbonite unit, an expression of sheer terror frozen on his face.

_ Tch, Damn.  _ Boba cursed wickedly under his breath.  _ That’s one less lead to follow… _

__

A tiny shimmering blue light out if the corner of his eye from the direction of the cockpit caught Boba’s attention.  _ What the kriff…? The ship has no power… _

Readying his blaster, Boba stalked towards the cockpit, Fennec hot on his heels. As they got closer, it was clear that the light wasn’t coming from any of the cockpit controls, but the floor instead. There was some sort of strange glowing blue liquid spattered across the flooring of the cockpit.

“What the kriff is that?” Fennec asked as Boba kneeled down to get a closer look.

“No idea.” Boba replied, already reaching a hand up to the side of his helmet to activate his HUD and its analysis function. “Give me a second.”

Boba’s brow furrowed as the liquid’s elemental composition scrolled down his HUD.  _ Mostly water with a high salt content? Human tears? Oh Din’ika… _

__

The signature whine of a jet pack suddenly hummed through the air, followed by a heavy thump on the ship’s landing ramp. Boba and Fennec whirled around, brandishing their weapons as heavy footsteps rushed through the ship towards them.

“Din?! Are you in there, Vod’ika?!”

_ Mando’a? A Mandalorian? One who knows Din by name?  _ Boba thought to himself, perplexed.

As the footsteps drew closer, a huge Mandalorian in heavy blue beskar’gam burst through the cockpit. When the Mandalorian caught sight of Boba and Fennec, he immediately reached back and drew an enormous heavy repeating blaster off of his back, shifting into a ready combat stance.

“Who are you? Where is the Mandalorian who owns this ship?” The Mandalorian growled lowly, his vocoder cackling with the grit in his deep voice.

Boba snarled behind his helmet, keeping his blaster trained on the Mandalorian. “You’re looking at him. Who are you and why are you looking for my Vod’ika?”

The Mandalorian let out a wordless sound of rage. “ _ Your  _ Vod’ika? He is my creed-brother.” The Mandalorian took a threatening step forward, prompting Fennec to squeeze her finger tighter on the trigger in warning.

“Creed broth- Fennec stop!” Boba threw a hand out to the side to signal Fennec to stand down. “You’re Paz.”

The newly identified Paz tilted his helmet to the side, angling his blaster towards the ground as a show of good faith. “You know my name?”

Boba nodded. “Yes, Din told me about you, said that you grew up together in the Covert on Navarro. This is my ship, I gave it to Din after his Razor Crest was destroyed.”

Paz nodded back in reply, completely lowering his blaster, Fennec silently following suit.

With the hostilities dispersed, Boba made to rise from his crouch, but kneeling for so long had made his legs numb, and Boba’s stint in the Sarlaac hadn’t helped his joints. Boba’s knee buckled under his weight, sending the King of Tattoine reeling backwards. Boba threw out a hand behind him to catch himself, forgetting about the strange liquid behind him.

The world fractured into blue light.

(A/N This is Jango this entire chapter lmaoo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please leave a comment! I might not be able to asnwer them all, but they all make me so incredilble happy and keep me motivated to write more!!!
> 
> Ori'Vod- Big sibling  
> Vod'ika- Little sibling  
> Ner copikla Vod’ika- My adorable (Like baby or tooka) little sibling  
> Din'ika- Din (affectionate)  
> Beroya- Bounty Hunter  
> Mandokarla- Having the 'right stuff' what makes a good Mandalorian


	19. Found Clan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm cryingggggg both BlaiddtheWolf and SinisterNoodles on Tumblr made this fic b e a u t i f u l fanart!!!!!
> 
> Please go check them out!!!!
> 
> https://blaiddthewolf.tumblr.com/
> 
> https://sinisternoodles.tumblr.com/
> 
> Oh, and the way that a specific trio appear in the past is shamelessly stolen from Fai_Gensou, you know what you did ;)))))

Din heaved a heavy sigh as he finished treating the last of the Young hostage’s wounds. The ambush had gone as well as he could have hoped, with all of the Elders dead, and no casualties on the Young’s side.  _ But still…  _ Din fought down the rising swell of rage. The Young had already been through enough and he didn’t want them to have to see an angry adult in their home after what they had been through.

Din stepped back and smiled gently behind his helmet at the now treated Ad’ika, running a hand through their dirty hair. They had fallen asleep halfway through Din’s treatment and were now softly snoring as they lay atop one of the makeshift cots within the Young’s sick bay.

_ Speaking of sleep…  _ Din tilted his helmet to observe Obi-Wan. With no wounds left to treat, the boy was now organising the medical supplies and equipment that Din had stolen from Death Watch. Even from his place across the room, Din could see the exhaustion tugging at Obi-Wan’s limbs, making his movements sluggish. It was a sharp contrast to the breathtaking moves that Din had seen him perform during the ambush.

“Hey, Kid.” Din called, watching as Obi-Wan wearily raised his head. “We’ve all had a long day. Why don’t you take a break? You look dead on your feet.”

Obi-Wan blinked slowly before shaking his head. “Thank you for the kind offer, Mister Din, but I’m fine.” Obi-Wan gestured to the vast array of medical supplies. “There’s still so much for me to do. But why don’t you get some sleep instead?” Obi-Wan asked in his crisp Coruscanti accent, turning back to the medical supplies.

Din’s eyes narrowed behind his visor, tracking the way that Obi-Wan struggled to open his eyes after every blink, and the heavy drag of his limbs.  _ ‘I’m fine!’ Yeah right.  _ Din scoffed silently to himself. Din closed his eyes behind his visor before consciously trying to reach out to that brilliant blue chord connecting him and Obi-Wan, tugging slightly on it. The sudden rush of pure exhaustion pouring through their bond sent Din reeling back before Obi-Wan’s durasteel shields blocked off the dizzying barrage of emotion.

Obi-Wan lifted his head from his work and raised a single eyebrow in question.

_ Oh, so that’s how you’re going to play it, huh?  _ Din thought exasperatedly. Din shook his head in answer before striding to the entrance of the sick bay. Din reached out and drew back the tattered cloth, peeking out into the main room of the Young’s hideout.

_ Perfect.  _ Din grinned slyly to himself behind his helmet.  _ Oh how the tables have turned… _

__

Spinning on his heel, Din strode purposefully back to Obi-Wan, grabbing the Ad’ika by his shoulders and hauling him to his feet.

“Wha- Mister Din?!” Obi-Wan jolted in surprise before digging in his heels and attempting to wiggle out of Din’s gentle, yet firm grasp.

Din ignored Obi-Wan’s feeble struggles and continued to usher the Ad’ika through to the main room. “Shh, Kid. You need to rest before you drop. And I told you, It’s just Din.” Keeping a hold on the wriggling Ad, Din stepped over the slumbering forms of the Young until he reached his goal. A large puppy pile of sleepy Ade.

“In you go.” Din muttered, shoving Obi-Wan head first into the pile, watching in satisfaction as the sleepy Ade unwound themselves from their tight formation, wrapping their arms around Obi-Wan in an octopus like hug and drawing him back into the pile.

“Have a good sleep, Kid.” Din inclined his helmet in a mock bow before stepping back and preparing to head back to the sick bay to organise those supplies. A hard tug on Din’s cape stopped him in his tracks, pulling the exhausted Beroya off of his feet and sending him reeling backwards into the pile of sleepy Ade.

Din landed with an  _ oof,  _ limbs spread eagled like a starfish. Before Din could lever himself back up, the sleepy Ade wound their arms around Din’s limbs and torso, pulling him back into the pile. The gentle warmth emanating from the Ade sent an intense wave of shivers down Din’s spine, muscles tensing, then involuntarily relaxing into the Ade’s soft comfort.

_ Well, I should have seen that coming…  _ After the ambush, the Young had really warmed up to him. So much so that Din had trouble completing his treatment of the injured Ade, since they all tried to cling on to him like limpets instead of letting themselves be treated. Numerous other Ade had snuck into the watch Din work, or wrap their tiny arms around Din’s waist and bury their faces in the small of his back.

The pleasant sound of Obi-Wan’s tinkling laughter jolted Din out of his thoughts. “Caught in your own trap, huh, Mister Din?” Obi-Wan shifted, bringing a hand down to rummage in his belt before pulling out the Darksaber that Din had lent him. “Here, thank you for letting me borrow this.” The previously silent Darksaber began humming in discontent in Obi-Wan’s hand, and Din could see Obi-Wan’s arm bend slightly back towards himself with the ‘Saber’s resistance.

Din shook his head, pushing the extended Darksaber back until it rested against Obi-Wan’s chest, smirking wryly under his helmet as the Darksaber vibrated happily against Obi-Wan’s tunic.  _ I think this is the first time that we’ve agreed on something…  _ The Darksaber at Din’s waist let out short bursts of vibrations, almost as if it was laughing.

The Darksaber that Din had won off of Vizsla had seemingly attached itself to Obi-Wan pretty hard, and if Din listened close enough, he could almost make out the ‘Saber’s almost silent whispers of ‘chosen’, even through his helmet. But if Din was being honest, he didn’t give a kriff about the Kid being ‘chosen’, he was just glad that Obi-Wan had use of a weapon he was familiar with in the middle of a warzone that  _ actively  _ hunted Ade.

_ Speaking of… _

__

“Obi-Wan?” Din asked tentatively, prompting Obi-Wan to look up from where he was carefully reattaching a smug Darksaber to his belt, head tilted in question. “What happened with your ‘Master’?” Din shifted so that he could lock eyes with the Ad’ika through his visor. “Why did the Shabuir leave you alone in a warzone with no weapon?”

Obi-Wan swallowed, the gentle mirth in his eyes dying down into despondency, hands moving to fiddle with the tattered hem of his tunic. “It was my fault…”

Din narrowed his eyes behind his visor.  _ Banthashite. He has done nothing but prove himself to be a worthy and compassionate warrior.  _ Din shook his head gently. “Somehow, I don’t believe that. Try again Kid. Tell me everything.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes darted to the side, avoiding eye-contact with Din before he hesitantly began to talk. “My Master and I were sent here on a mission by the Council to end the fighting between the Melida and the Daan, and to retrieve Master Tahl.” Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably. “We found Master Tahl, but she was critically injured, and she had to be taken back to the Temple for healing, otherwise she would die. We also found out about the Young, who weren’t in any of the mission briefings.”

Din felt his heart sink as he listened to Obi-Wan’s story. Somehow he could already tell where it was going…

“So I suggested that we hire a transport to take Master Tahl back to the Temple for healing while me and my Master would stay and help the Young.” Obi-Wan shook his head helplessly. “But my Master didn’t agree. He was always fond of Master Tahl and wanted to escort her back to the Temple and looked upon Melida/Daan in scorn for hurting her. Then he wrote them off as a lost cause.” Obi-Wan swallowed nervously and clenched his hands in his tunic, tears welling in his eyes. “But I wanted to help the Young. I disobeyed my own Master! Th-Then he took my lightsaber and expelled me from the Order…” Obi-Wan devolved into heart-breaking silent sobs that wracked his tiny form.

Din gritted his teeth and forced his burning anger down. The Ad’ika was already upset enough as it is, and feeling Din’s anger through their bond, even muffled under his helmet, would only bring more distress.

“Kid, it’s not your fault. If anything, it’s your ‘Master’s’ fault for refusing to put the needs of the many over the needs of the few, especially when it comes to children.” Obi-Wan shook his head and opened his mouth to protest, but Din barreled onwards, not allowing Obi-Wan to interject. “No, I don’t know anything about the Jedi, but I know my own people. And what you did Obi-Wan, was act as any good Mandalorian should. You protected innocent children.”

Obi-Wan’s desperate sobs deepened as he drew up his arms to hug himself tightly, bony shoulders shaking uncontrollably. “I-It’s my f-fault for disobeying my Master’s orders!”

_ Karking Shabuir ‘Master!’  _ Din cursed viciously. Taking a deep breath, once again forced down the rising anger and mentally poked the chord binding him and Obi-Wan together while thinking as hard as he could about how proud he was of him. Instantly, even though Din could feel nothing from Obi-Wan’s end, the Ad’ika’s head shot up from his slouch, staring at Din with shocked disbelieving eyes. Din inwardly gritted his teeth at the sight of a child looking so shocked at receiving basic praise and affection from an adult.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” Din asked softly, tilting his helmet to the side, but still maintaining eye-contact with the Ad’ika.

Obi-Wan’s lower lip wobbled as hot tears once again welled up in his turquoise eyes. “N-No. The Order is all I hav- had.”

Din nodded resolutely, ignoring the well of sadness in his chest at the sight of the Ad’ika’s forlorn tears. “Then would you accept a place among my Aliit, my clan?”

Obi-Wan jolted, whirling around to stare at Din in disbelief, shocked silent. “W-Wha-?” Obi-Wan took a moment to compose himself, wiping away his tears with a tattered sleeve. “Y-You are offering to… adopt me? Even after I just said that I disobeyed my own Master?”

Din inclined his head. “Yes. Do you accept?”

Obi-Wan bit his lip, brow furrowing in thought. A few seconds later, he looked up, a determined glint in his eye. “I accept.”

Din nodded, reaching up to slip his helmet over his head, ignoring the delighted gasps of the shamelessly eavesdropping Ade. Din felt a hot flush travel up the back of his neck at the feeling of so many gazes trained on his bare face. Din ignored the intense feeling of embarrassment and shame at removing his helmet in front of others.  _ I have no Covert to shame with my actions… _

“Ni kar’tayl gai sa’ad, Obi-Wan.” Din recited, a soft smile on his face. Immediately, Din was hit with an intense wave of foreign emotion.  _ Pride, sanction, CHOSEN.  _ And by the dumbfounded look on Obi-Wan’s face as he stared down at the Darksaber at his waist, he heard it too.

Din imagined an imaginary wall in his head, a simple technique that Obi-Wan had taught him before they had left on the ambush, blocking out the worst of the emotional feedback. With that done, Din spread his arms out wide in a universal offer for a hug, watching as Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked between Din’s open arms and softly smiling face. After a moment of careful deliberation, Obi-Wan slowly moved forward until his head rested lightly against Din’s chest plate, the rest of his body carefully positioned so that it wasn’t touching Din.

Discreetly listening on the bond, Din caught the tail end of Obi-Wan’s self-depreciating thoughts before they were locked uo tight behind his shielding.  _ Careful, I don’t want to touch Mister Din more than necessary, I don’t want to be a bother after all… _

__

Din let out an incredulous snort before wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan’s shoulders and back, hauling the Ad’ika into his chest in a proper hug. Even through his beskar’gam, Din could feel the way Obi-Wan tensed up, then relaxed until he was almost boneless.

A jubilant cheer rose up from the gathered Young, their joyful voices echoing off of the stone walls of the hideout.

Din and Obi-Wan lay tangled in each other’s embrace for a few minutes, revelling in the soft warmth of their new-found family, until a sudden jolt had both new members of Clan Djarin snapping their heads up to look towards the entrance of the hideout in unison. Din winced at the sudden unfamiliar whispered screams of  _ CHANGEARRIVAL  _ in his ears, the Darksabers lying silent at Din and Obi-Wan’s waists.

Obi-Wan tilted his head to catch Din’s eyes, leaning back from their embrace to press Din’s helmet back into his gloved hands. “There’s been a disturbance in the force…” Obi-Wan turned back to look at the entrance.

“Something’s coming…”

SWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSW

Boba grunted as the blinding blue light receded, revealing the sight of both Fennec and the new comer, Paz, hovering over him. As the last of the light fizzled out, whatever strange force that was keeping them suspended in the air suddenly disappeared, sending the trio crashing to the ground.

Boba hit the ground with a wheeze, all the breath was driven from his lungs as both Paz and Fennec landed on top of him. The big fucker had an elbow planted squarely in Boba’s gut, drawing out a strangled groan, and Fennec laid sprawled across Boba’s legs pinning him to the ground. Boba raised the one hand he had free to slap at the dazed Mandalorian’s pauldron.

“Kriff, sorry.” Paz mumbled, before rolling off of Boba to sprawl on the floor beside him. “Did you catch the registration of the ship that crashed into us? I think all of my organs just swapped places.”

Boba snorted breathlessly, replying once he had caught his breath. “Karking Jedi magic osik.”

Fennec combat rolled off of Boba’s legs, bringing her blaster rifle up in a ready position as she scanned their surroundings, defending the two downed Mandalorians. “You two good?” she asked from her position knelt upon the ground.

“Ugh, yeah.” Boba groaned, bringing up a hand to rub at the back of his aching neck under his helmet, wilfully ignoring the persistent ache in his left knee. “Any idea where we are?” Boba asked, pushing himself to his feet and drawing his blaster.

Fennec shook her head. “We’ve changed positions, Boba. It doesn’t even look like we’re on the same planet.”

Paz snorted from where he was still sprawled out over the ground. “Yeah, I think I’d remember a destroyed city on my flight over.”

Boba shook his head, fighting down the urge to smack Paz up the back of his head.  _ He’s right though, this place looks like it’s seen hell…  _ Once tall, elegant buildings were reduced to piles of rubble along the sides of the street. Tell-tale burn marks of thermal detonators and grenades scorched the dry stone and concrete, the force of the blasts cracking the once smooth roads.

“Boba, 12 o’clock.” Fennec hissed, jerking her head down the street.

Boba turned his head, squinting. There, in the distance, sat a completely decimated mining vessel.

_ Well, it’s a good place to start, we’re coming for you, Din’ika. _

_ _

A/N Here's a little sketch of 'lil Sonan, since a couple of people asked for his colouring and stuff (He's not Maul or Feral btw lol)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Osik- dung, shit (rude)  
> Ad'ika- Child, affectionate  
> Ade- Children  
> Ni kar’tayl gai sa’ad- Mandalorian adoption vows  
> Aliit- Clan, family  
> Din'ika- Din (Affectionate)


	20. Investigation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: The misspelling of 'Manda'lor' in the title is completely intentional ;)))))
> 
> Oh, and the fainting is shamelessly stolen from Fai_Gensou : DDDDD

Jaster suppressed a weary groan as he leaned back in his uncomfortable high backed seat. The ‘Peace Talks’ with the New Mandalorians had been dragging on for the better part of six hours, and Jaster hadn’t been able to get a word in edgewise between Kryze’s passionate speeches against violence, and the tall karking Jedi that Jaster was quickly coming to dislike.

Jaster brought a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose, attempting to interject Kryze’s fifth variation of his fifth argument against wearing Mandalorian armour. “Kryze, what I’m trying to say, is that if you and your people have a problem with the traditional Mandalorian culture, and prefer the ways of the Core Worlds, why don’t you just emigrate-?”

“Absolutely not, who do you think I am? I am a proud Mandalorian and I refuse to leave my ancestral home!” Adonai scoffed, cutting Jaster off mid-sentence. “What, do you intend to force out our peaceful, unarmed people? Where’s your honour, ‘Mand’alor’?”

_ Keep calm Jaster… The sooner you get this over with, the sooner you can join Jango in looking for Beroya… _

The Jedi tucked his hands in his sleeves and looked down his nose at Jaster. “I do have to agree. If you resort to violence during these peace talks, then I will be forced to contact the Council for assistance- Ah.” Jinn’s comm began to chime, prompting the Jedi to reach into his robes and check the caller. “Ah, perfect timing, the Council is calling now to check up on the proceedings.” Jinn said, a smug curl to the corner of his lips as he accepted the call.

The flickering blue holographic figure of a large, rather irritated looking Wookie appeared above Jinn’s comm. An expression of pure surprise flickered across Jinn’s face for a split second before he reverted back to his default mode: Condescending serenity.

“Master Tyvokka. To what do I owe this unexpected call, are you perhaps inquiring after the proceedings of the Mandalorian peace talks-“

“Qui-Gon, you are being recalled. Effective immediately.” The Wookie ordered, cutting off Jinn’s speech.

Jinn raised a single eyebrow in response. “I am in the middle of delicate negotiations, Master Tyvokka. May I enquire as to why you would recall me during such an important proceeding?”

The Wookie visibly gritted his teeth as they ground out a response. “You are under investigation for your actions against your previous Padawans.”

Jaster sat back in his uncomfortable seat, not even pretending that he wasn’t blatantly listening in on the Jetti’s conversation.  _ Padawan? Isn’t that what the Jettise call their Ade?  _ Jaster felt an intense wave of suspicion build in his chest, his instinctive dislike of the Jetti growing stronger with every word.  _ ‘Actions against previous Padawans?’ What ‘actions’ did this Shabuir take against his own Ade? _

__

Jinn turned his nose up at the hologram. “I have no Padawan.”

The Wookie Jetti ground their teeth and visibly calmed themselves, cursing quietly under their breath in Shyriiwook. Jaster inwardly whistled, impressed at the creative stream of profanity. He’d have to remember some of those for later.

“Padawan. Kenobi.” The Wookie crossed their arms over their chest and leaned forward menacingly. “The thirteen year old human boy that somehow ended up fighting alone in a war-zone where the adults, the children’s parents, actively hunt and kill their own children.” The Wookie’s muscles went deceptively lax, like a predator about to pounce. “All of which wasn’t mentioned in your report where you stated that Obi-Wan voluntarily left the order for his attachment to a girl.”

Jaster felt his jaw drop in disbelief.  _ What the kriff?! Did I just hear that Shabuir right?!  _ Jaster felt his contempt and rage for the Jetti rise into an almost uncontrollable inferno as the Jetti’s holier than thou attitude persisted in the face of the Wookie’s questioning.  _ Stay calm Jaster, at least for now, the utreekov is only giving himself more rope to hang himself with, you can punch him in his massive nose when he’s finished… _

“I was following the will of the force.”

“Does the will of the force include abandoning a child under your care and the lives of countless innocent children in favour of a single woman? We have video proof, Qui-Gon, and we have sent two Masters and Padawan Vos to investigate.” Tyvokka asked quietly, face deadly calm with an undertone of sharp steel in his voice. “Qui-Gon, I will say it again, you are being recalled to Coruscant, effective immediately.”

Jaster watched in angered disbelief as the Shabuir simply raised a single nonchalant brow, still completely calm in the face of Tyvokka’s accusations. “I am in the middle of delicate negotiations, Master Tyvokka. Surely it can wait until after I am done…”

Tyvokka stilled, face slack in incredulity. “Qui-Gon… Don’t tell me that you’re on call in the middle of a literal peace talk…”

The Shabuir inclined his head. “As a matter of fact, I am. I have nothing to hide, for my actions are completely justified.”

Jaster snorted, already fantasising about the numerous ways he could kill the Jetti and make it look like an accident, drawing the attention of the Wookie.

“Mand’alor Mereel.” Tyvokka bowed his head in respect. “I thank you for sending one of your own to assist our wayward Padawan on Melida/Daan despite the misgivings between our people.

Jaster fought to keep his eyebrows from climbing up his forehead in surprise.  _ What? One of my own? I’ve never even heard of this Melida/Daan, let alone send one of the Haat’ade there, so who could it be? It’s definitely not any Death Watch remnants, they would sooner kidnap and brainwash the children, and it can’t be the New Mandalorians, since they wouldn’t touch a weapon to save their pwn lives, and it wasn’t one of my own, I would have gotten a report especially since it involves-  _ Jaster’s eyes involuntarily widened in realization, a giddy feeling of anticipation rising in his chest.

Beroya.

Of course! It completely fell in line with Beroya’s pattern of behaviour, after all, how many life debts had the man racked up in the short time the Haat’ade had known of him?

Jaster forcibly schooled his expression into one of placid amiability, rage at the karking shabuir Jetti and anticipation at finally knowing the Beroya’s location simmering bright in his chest.

“Think nothing of it, any respectable Mando’ad would raise arms in defence of a child.” Jaster discreetly side eyed Kryze, taking immense pleasure in the man’s sour twisted expression that looked as if he had just sucked on a lemon. “I will send more of the Haat’ade’s forces to assist. Children are the future.”

Tyvokka inclined his head respectfully. “Just so, Mand’alor. Rest assured we will look into this matter in great detail.” Tyvokka turned to regard Jinn with cold eyes, a sliver of fang peeking out from behind the Jedi Master’s curled lip. “That being said, you are to depart for Coruscant immediately, Qui-Gon. If the peace talks are still underway, we will send another Jedi representative upon request.”

Jaster shook his head, cutting off Kryze’s protests. “That won’t be necessary. I believe that we are quite done here.”

With one last parting nod and cold look at Jinn, Tyvokka ended the comm call, his blue hologram flickering out of existence.

As soon as the Jedi Master was out of sight, Kryze immediately exploded. “Done? Done?! We are not even remotely close to being done, Mereel! You still refuse to see reason! The violent ways of the past will only lead to Mandalore’s destruction!”

Silas approached from his position leaning against the wall to loom menacingly over Jaster’s shoulder, watching in satisfaction as Kryze and his councillors flinched back at the sight of a Mando’ad in full armour.

Jaster was to voice his biting reply, when his comm chimed with a message. Digging out his comm, Jaster raised his eyebrows in surprise at the sender’s name.  _ Jango? What could be so urgent that he would send a message to my work number?  _ Jaster thought, puzzled. Reading the words in the message, Jaster felt his lips curve upwards in amusement.  _ ‘We have located the Beroya on a planet called Melida/Daan. He is currently aiding a faction of children fight against their demagolka buire. Task Force is on route.’ Huh, what a coincidence, I was going to send the same message to him once we had finished up for the day…  _ Jaster’s thoughts trailed off once he caught sight of a holo-vid attachment.  _ This must be the video evidence that that Jedi mentioned, but how did Jango get his hands on it? _

__

Shrugging off both his own questioning thoughts and Kryze’s offended sputtering, Jaster opened the attached file, making sure to angle himself so that his Commandos could watch over his shoulder. Not even a second into the holo-vid, Jaster immediately choked on his own saliva at the image of a tiny red headed child dashing across the screen, cutting down adults left and right with the  _ kriffing Darksaber. _

The gathered Haat’ade minds went blank, only one thought collectively running through their minds.  _ Mandokarla… _

Jaster’s Commandos whispered excitedly amongst themselves as they pressed themselves against Jaster’s back, clamouring for a better view.  _ What? But I thought that the Beroya had claimed the Darksaber in combat after defeating Vizsla?  _ Jaster thought dumbfoundedly to himself. But any thoughts about the Darksaber and its current wielder were driven far from their thoughts as the camera panned over to show an Ad’ika who couldn’t be any older than nine, held at blaster point. Lurid purple bruises peeked out from the boy’s tattered clothing, and blood sluggishly dripped from the Ad’s hands to splash against the cracked concrete.

Jaster almost crushed the comm with his bare hands as he gritted his teeth against the intense wave of pure  **anger.** The Ad’ika’s fingernails were missing. That child was  **_tortured._ ** Jaster was not force sensitive, but even he could feel the burning protective rage emanating from the Mando’ade at his back as the air practically vibrated with the force of the Haat’ade’s enraged growls, their eyes hyper focused on the flickering screen of Jaster’s comm.

However, the low growls cut off into painful sounding wheezes as the camera panned back over to Beroya, who was brutally  _ obliterating  _ the Demagolka scum with nothing but his beskar spear and whipcord.  _ Holy kriff, how many emotions must this video make me feel?!  _ Jaster’s head was spinning from the confusing and dizzying combination of rage, sadness, and overwhelming arousal swirling in his gut as the Beroya pierced one of the Demagolka through the neck, severing their spine with his spear.

“Oh what the kriff?!” Came Silas’s choked off cry as the Beroya pulled out  _ another  _ Darksaber and proceeded to cut open the back of the crashed transport vehicle. Silas slapped Jaster repeatedly on the pauldron with one hand, while pointing shakily at the holo-vid with the other. “You’re seeing this right, Mand’alor?”

Jaster nodded speechlessly, eyes fixed on the spectacle. In all of his readings through historical texts and the like, Jaster had  _ never  _ come across mention of another Darksaber, not even a rumour.  _ So how in the kriff…?  _

Jaster’s thoughts were cut off as the camera panned back to the tiny fierce red head, new implications running through his mind.  _ If the little one has one of the Darksabers, does that mean that the Beroya has claimed him? They are working together… _

Jaster watched the remaining Demagolka get cut down by a combination of the red-head’s skills with the darksaber and cover fire raining down from off screen, before Jaster’s eyes widened with a world shattering realisation.  _ Wait, if the Beroya has claimed the red-head, that means that whoever enters into a relationship with Beroya gets joint custody of one of the most Mandokarla Ade I have ever seen…  _ Jaster felt the urge to leave and find the Beroya immediately increase in intensity at his realisation.

The video ended with a shot of the Beroya leaving the transport, Darksaber in hand, with a group of Ade in the same state as the hostage clinging on to the Beroya’s cape and following behind him like limping ducklings.

As the Holo-Vid ended, the room stood still, everybody’s eyes still locked on the empty space where the holo-vid was projected above Jaster’s comm.

“Holy shit.” The silence was broken by a quiet whisper from one of Jaster’s Haat’ade. “I’m ace, but holy hell I can see what all the fuss is about. It’s like admiring fine art… But I would  _ absolutely  _ adopt that kid, kriffing hell.” The Mando’ade, Juniper, a female Twi’lek, guffawed from the back of the group. Muttering under her breath about gathering the rest of the aromantic and ace Mando’ade to organise a betting pool and create teams to back each ‘competitor’.

Wordlessly, Jaster stowed the comm back in his belt, then turned and fixed the now sickly pale Kryze with a death stare. “Would you pick up your weapons to defend Ade such as this?” Jaster asked, dead serious.

Kryze swallowed, eyes darting restlessly around the room. “Violence will only lead to our own destruction-”

Jaster cut Kryze off by striding forward and backhanding him as hard as he could across the face. The resounding slap and pained grunt satisfied something deep within his soul as he watched blood slowly drip from Kryze’s nose. Dazed, Kryze reached up a single hand to touch at his bloodied skin. Kryze’s eyes locked on the smears of blood on his pale, callousless fingers, before what little colour remaining in his face drained, and his eyes rolled backwards into his skull as he dropped to the marble floor in a dead faint.

Jaster and his Commandos snorted at the sight. What Mando’ade fainted at the sight of a little  _ blood? _

__

“How dare you strike the Duke- OW!” One of Kryze’s advisors rushed towards Jaster, hands fluttering uselessly at his chest before Jaster brought up a gloved hand and backhanded him in the same fashion as he did Kryze. Jaster’s Haat’ade erupted into a cacophony of raucous cheers as the advisor stumbled backwards, hand pressed to his stinging face.

As the advisor tumbled to the floor with a choked yelp, the remaining two advisors rushed forwards, arms raised in the sloppiest defensive stance Jaster had ever seen. Raising his hand once again, Jaster backhanded the two approaching advisors one by one, watching them topple to the ground like dominoes, the mocking hoots of his Commandos echoing off of the chamber’s high walls.

Jaster stepped forward, coming to a stop before the downed advisors. “If you would not raise a weapon in defence of an Ade, then you do not deserve to call yourself Mando’ade. I, as my people’s Mand’alor, do not recognise the New Mandalorians as Mando’ade. I will give your people the option to become Mando’ade conscientious objectors, as long as they do not object to those who follow our ways, and they contribute in some way to Mandalore as a whole. But any who think as you do, Dar’Manda,” Jaster spat, “Who would ignore the plight of an Ad in need, will be cordially invited to get the fuck off of Manda’yaim and emigrate to the Core Worlds, since you seem to like them so much.”

Jaster spun on his heel, grabbing his bucket and slipping it over his head before he departed the chambers, his Commandos forming up behind him. As the tall doors swung open, Jaster was met with the sight of the kriffing Shabuir Jetti gaping wordlessly at Kryze and his advisors.

_ Perfect… _

__

Without saying a word, Jaster reeled back a fist and punched Jinn as hard as he could in his obnoxiously large nose, making sure that at least one of the beskar plates on his glove made contact. Jaster grinned viciously behind his helmet as he felt the shabuir’s nose break under his fist, blood gushing from the wound and streaming down the Jetti’s bearded chin.

The Jetti stumbled backwards, tripping over his own robes to land on the floor with a pained yelp.

Jaster stepped over the Shabuir’s fallen form without preamble, his Commandos wordlessly following his lead. “Prepare the ship, we depart for Melida/Daan.”

A/N This is Jaster this chapter lmaoooo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please comment! I can't answer them all, but I do read every single one of them and they really motivate me to write and make me so so happy!!!
> 
> Shabuir- Insult, jerk but stronger  
> Demagolka- Monster, someone that would harm children  
> Ad- Child  
> Ade- Children  
> Buire- Parents  
> Jetti- Jedi  
> Dar'Manda- No longer a Mandalorian  
> Mandokarla- The 'Right stuff', what makes a good Mandalorian  
> Beroya- Bounty Hunter  
> Utreekov- Fool, Idiot


	21. Questionable Survival Instincts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of y'all have any suggestions, please let me know! None of this is pre-written so the plot is very much in flux!

Boba grunted and ignored the persistent ache in his left knee as he, Fennec and Paz came to a stop before the crashed mining vessel.

“Kriffing hell, that thing’s completely karked.” Paz let out an impressed whistle, tilting his helmet in a way that indicated he was raking his eyes over the twisted metal of the hull.

Fennec snorted from her position at the rear of the party. “What do you bet that it was Djarin?”

Boba suppressed a chuckle and shook his head in reply. “Fool’s bet. Did you see the state of the Razor Crest before Moff Gideon blew it sky high?”

Paz tripped over a piece of chewed up concrete, a choked wheeze cackling through his vocoder. “Moff Gideon?!” Paz straightened up to his full height, looming over Boba and Fennec. “Did you say Moff Gideon? The same Moff Gideon that led the Empire’s purge of Mandalore?” Paz clenched his fists so hard that Boba could hear the leather of his gloves creaking under the strain.

Boba froze, a complicated mix of emotions swirling in his stomach. “Din’ika didn’t exactly mention that little tid-bit, no.  _ I should have gotten my own punch in before Dune and her lot dragged Gideon away… Wait.  _ Boba’s eyes widened behind his helmet, a cruel grin pulling at the scar tissue on his face.  _ If he doesn’t know about Din’ika facing off against Gideon, then he has no idea about the Darksaber… Oh this is going to be hilarious…  _ Boba resolved to himself to remember to activate his helmet recorder once the big guy catches sight of the Darksaber.

Paz’s enraged growl jolted Boba out of his scheming thoughts. The large Mandalorian’s broad shoulders were trembling with rage as Paz visibly struggled not to punch the nearest surface. In the face of Paz’s overwhelming rage, Boba discreetly inched a hand towards the blaster holstered at his hip, apprehension building in his chest. “Where is he now?” Paz’s head snapped around to stare Boba dead in the visor. “Where is that Hut’uun?!”

Boba fought against taking a step back. Loathe as he was to admit it, Paz’s tank-like size was overwhelmingly intimidating when the Mandalorian was mad. Not to be out done, Boba straightened his spine and stepped forward so that he and Paz were standing chest to chest. “Wanna try talking to me like that again?” Boba asked, voice deadly soft. There is no way that Boba would let himself be outdone by a baby Mando, even if he was physically larger than himself.

After a tense few seconds of Boba and Paz locking eyes through their visors, Paz’s shoulders eventually slumped in defeat, the larger Mandalorian ducking his head and breaking eye contact. “Sorry.” Oaz shuffled awkwardly. “I kinda lose it when the Empire is involved.” Paz’s vice dropped in volume, softening with sadness. “Everyone I loved was taken from me by the Empire...”

Boba involuntarily softened in the face of the younger Mandalorian’s familiar overwhelming urge for vengeance, clasping a hand firmly in Paz’s shoulder. Even through Paz’s armour, Boba could feel the man’s muscles tense, then involuntarily relax, Paz subconsciously leaning into Boba’s steadying grip.  _ Kriff, he’s in as bad shape as Din. What does this Covert of theirs do to make them  _ **_this_ ** _ touch-starved?!  _ Boba through incredulously to himself, squeezing his hand to ground the larger Mandalorian.

“Hey, I get it, I really do. But you can’t let that osik rule over you or it’s gonna consume your whole life. Take that from someone who knows.” Boba said gruffly, trying to keep his voice from reflecting his soft feelings.  _ Shit, keep it together Boba. One feral emotionally dumb Mando is enough, you don’t need two. Paz is only staying on board until you find Din, and no longer- _

__

“Come on you two, you can hug it out later when we’ve found our idiot. I don’t like being out in the open like this.” Fennec deadpanned, scanning their surroundings for potential threats, finger on the trigger of her blaster rifle.

Boba nodded in agreement, dismissing the hot simmer of embarrassment in his stomach at being called out. “Right, we have a wayward Mando to find- Wait”. Boba held up a closed fist in a signal to stop. “Do you hear that?”

Immediately, both Paz and Fennec froze, readying their weapons in response and tilting their heads in concentration.

“Someone’s coming.” Fennec said, bringing up her rifle to her face so that she could scan the empty street with her scope as the quiet footsteps grew louder and louder, echoing off of the empty buildings paving the street.

“There’s more than one- Shit! Lower your weapons!” Paz cried, slapping a hand on both Boba and Fennec’s blasters, forcing them down to point at the ground. Both Boba and Fennec whirled around, ready to rip into the large Mandalorian for A- touching their weapons without permission, and B- putting them all in danger if the approaching party was hostile.

“Listen! The steps are too light and the gait too short to be adults!” Paz stage whispered harshly, pointing a single finger in the air to prompt Fennec and Boba to listen more closely. “And there’s no way I’m gonna raise my weapon against an Ad’ika.”

“Hmmm, he’s right.” Fennec said grudgingly, shaking Paz’s hand off of her blaster. Fennec turned to look at Paz and Boba. “But no offence, how exactly are we going to convince them that we’re not going to hurt them? I mean, have either of you looked in the mirror recently? None of us are exactly the definition of ‘cuddly’.”

Paz suppressed a snort of amusement as he watched Paz holster his heavy repeating blaster on his back before hunching his shoulders down as far as he could to make himself appear smaller.  _ She’s right though.  _ Boba discretely looked down at himself and his battered beskar’gam.  _ What sane child would look at this without screaming and running for the hills, not to mention if they saw my bare face…  _ Boba thought to himself, feeling his scars tingling beneath his helmet. 

Fennec rolled her eyes at Paz’s antics before relaxing her muscles to appear as loose and at ease as possible so as to appear non-threatening to the approaching children. Though it only made her look more deadly and ready to move at the drop of a hat.

A few seconds later, a gaggle of about nine children between the ages of eight and eleven with shiny freshly issued blasters rounded the corner, freezing at the sight of Boba and his group.

Boba felt an overwhelming wave of pure, utter rage well in the pit of his stomach. The kids were in bad condition. Their skin was drawn taught over their bones, stomachs seemingly sticking to their spines.  _ I’ve seen slaves on Tatooine in better condition… _ Boba knew that Boba and Fennec had spotted the same thing, as he felt both of his companions tense at his side. But what drew Boba up short, was the healthy flush to their sallow cheeks, and the neatly wrapped bacta bandages peeking out from the tattered rags that barely passed as clothing.

Someone had been taking care of them…

The stray thought brought about a faint glimmer of hope in Boba’s chest, no matter how hard he fought to keep his hopes down.

Both Bob and his companions attempted to appear as non-threatening as possible, so as to not spook the kids.  _ Though,  _ Boba thought to himself, peeking at Paz and Fennec slyly out of the corner of his visor,  _ It’s not exactly working…  _ Boba suppressed a snort as Fennec attempted to hide her large sniper blaster rifle behind her back.

_ We’d best get ready to track them down once they run, they could provide a lead to whoever crashed this ship- huh?  _ Boba’s thought ground to an abrupt halt when the Ade’s faces lit up, excitement brightening up their dirty little faces. The kids broke out into a dead sprint towards Boba’s group, startling them into taking a step back as delighted laughter echoed down the empty streets.  _ What the kriff? Is this a new intimidation technique that I’m not aware of?  _ Boba glanced to the side, watching as Paz took a startled step back.  _ Well if it is, it’s effective if it’s working on the Big Guy. _

Boba struggled not to draw his blaster as the kids drew closer, it wouldn’t do to scare their only lead off, bizarre intimidation tactics or no. Finally, the stampeding group of Ade reached Boba and the others, coming to a skidding stop a few meters away, wide grins showing off gummy gap toothed smiles. One little blonde boy with a splint on his knee kept hobbling forward as the rest of the group halted.

The blonde boy tipped himself forward into Paz’s legs, locking his arms around the large Mandalorian’s waist and squeezing as hard as he could, though the child’s tiny arms didn’t even come close to fully circling Paz’s large waist. Boba suppressed a shocked chuckle as Paz flailed his arms wildly through the air before carefully settling a massive hand gentle atop the child’s blonde hair, rubbing cautiously at the wild blonde curls. The kid pushed his head up harder into Paz’s hand, a contented smile crossing his face, and Boba was sure that the kid would be purring at the attention if he could.

_ What the kriff? What child in their right mind would run  _ **_towards_ ** _ someone who looks like we do?  _ Boba thought, both he and Fennec shocked into a standstill at the surreal sight.  _ That’s some questionable survival instincts right there… _

“U-Uh. Hi?” Paz stuttered awkwardly, gloved hand still carding through the elated child’s hair, staring down in wonder at the child latched onto his waist.

The child’s head snapped up, directing a beaming grin up at Paz. “Hi!”

Boba and Fennec exchanged dumbfounded looks, shocked into silence at the bizarre turn that the situation had taken.

The other Ade seemed to take the child clinging to Paz’s loud greeting as some sort of signal, as they simultaneously rushed forward towards Boba and Fennec, shooting questions at a mile a second.

“Hi! What’s your names?”

“Wow! Your blaster is huge! Can I touch it?”

“Your hair is so pretty! Can you teach me how to do that?”

“Woah! Your armour’s really beat up! What happened? Did you fight a dragon?!”

“What do I have to eat to grow as tall as you?”

“Woah! Are you a cyborg?! That’s so cool!”

At Boba’s side, Fennec was frantically trying to ward off the approaching kids, holding her sniper rifle up out of the Ade’s reaching hands, while her free hand made shooing motions. But Boba could tell by the faint flush to his right hand’s cheeks and by the way the corner of her lips twitched that she was secretly enjoying the kids’ attention.

While Boba had his hands full trying to keep the Ade away from the thermal detonators at his waist, he could see out of the corner of his eye that multiple children were attempting to use Paz’s huge form as a makeshift climbing frame. The blonde kid was still latched on to his waist as two other kids were hanging off of one of Paz’s raised arms, giggling wildly as their feet swung off of the ground.

“Hey kids. What are you doing talking to strangers like this? It’s dangerous.” Boba said gruffly, keeping his bewilderment out of his voice.

One little girl cooing over Fennec’s mechanical stomach looked up, an elated flush bright on her cheeks. “We know! But Mister Din Sir said that people who looked like him that weren’t painted black and blue were good! And that they would help us if they saw us!”

Boba and his companions froze at the girl’s words.  _ No way… Surely it can't be that easy…?  _ Boba thought incredulously to himself, exchanging disbelieving looks with both Paz and Fennec. “Mister… Din Sir?” Boba rasped.

The blonde kid at Paz’s waist nodded his head so hard that Boba was slightly afraid that his head would roll off of his shoulders. “Uh huh! And look!” The kid stood on the tiptoes of one leg, reaching up as far as he could to slap the bottom of Paz’s chest plate, his braced leg waving wildly through the air as the child struggled to balance. “You’re blue, but you’ve got no black! So you’re good! You even look like Mister Din Sir!” The kid patted at the stylistic angles of Paz’s armour that Boba guessed was a stylistic quirk of their Covert’s armourer.

“Does this… Mister Din Sir, have really shiny silver armour like mine, and is about this tall?” Paz asked, voice uncharacteristically soft as he moved his arm to rest at shoulder height to indicate Din’s height, the two kids still clinging onto Paz’s arm squealing in excitement as they were swung through the air.

_ Wow, he’s really got a way with kids…  _ Boba thought to himself.  _ Not that you would have thought it when you look at him… _

__

The blonde kid grinned, nodding his head again. “Yup!” The Ad’ika chirped before his blue eyes went comically wide in realisation. “You’re Mister Din Sir’s friends?!”

This time, Boba couldn’t hold back the fond chuckle at the kid’s antics. He reminded Boba of the cadets on Kamino when they were out of sight of the long-necks. All wide eyed innocence as they stared up in wonder at the visiting Arc-Troopers and Commanders. Boba felt a pang of longing at the thought of Kamino, a flicker of a memory of his Buir’s warm smile crossing his mind. Boba had long left his overwhelming hunger for vengeance for his Buir’s death behind. He had accepted that it wasn’t entirely the fault of the Jedi, but nor was it entirely the fault of Jango either. No, Boba now squarely placed the blame on Palpatine, the wrinkly fuck. It was a shame that the crusty shabuir had died so quickly at the hands of Vader and Skywalker.

Boba was jolted out of his thoughts at Fennec’s amused answer. “That’s right. Can you take us to your Mister Din Sir?” His right hand asked, a smirk on her face that Boba knew meant that she would never let Din live the name down.

The Ade all broke out into a chorus of affirmatives, grabbing at the trio’s arms and pulling them back down the street, chattering excitedly all the way.

_ Hold on Din’ika, we’re coming… _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please comment! I might not be able to answer them all, but I read every single one of them and they really motivate me to keep writing!


	22. Reunion

“So, you have to hold the hilt like this. No, elbow a little higher, Mister Din Sir- There! Perfect!” Obi-Wan chirped as Din held up his Darksaber in the opening stance of Shii-Cho, arms trembling minutely as he struggled to keep his form upright and perfect. The Darksaber gripped in his hands hummed loudly in satisfaction, even through the comforting barrier of Din’s helmet. The Darksaber vibrated so hard that the hilt almost jumped out of Din’s grip. Din had asked Obi-Wan for lessons on wielding his Darksaber once they had woken up buried beneath a dogpile of sleepy Ade.

Din had known that he had made the right choice to ask when Obi-Wan’s face lit up, an excited and proud gleam making his turquoise eyes glisten in the low lighting of the Young’s hideout. It had only been twenty minutes since the impromptu ‘saber training had begun, and Din could already feel that he had a better grasp of the Darksaber. He could feel that if he were to face Vizsla again, the ‘saber battle would not be so one sided now that Din knew how to move.

Din discreetly glanced at Obi-Wan out of the corner of his eye, a tiny smile pulling at the corner of his lips.  _ He really is a good teacher. ‘I’m only a junior Padawan, and I am so bad that I wasn’t chosen until the last minute’. Yeah right. I don’t know much about the Jedi, if anything at all, but I know that a child that skilled would have been snapped up by any self-respecting Mandalorian years ago.  _ Seeing how flustered and embarrassed praise had made his newest Ad, Din had resolved to himself to heap as much positive reinforcement and contact on the boy as he could.

“Thank you for teaching me, Ad. And it’s just Din, or Buir when you feel comfortable enough to call me that.” Din said, affection and amusement deepening his raspy voice into a low drawl.

Din watched as a bright red flush crept up the back of Obi-Wan’s neck to warm his cheeks. “U-Uh. It was nothing special, Mi-Din.” Obi-Wan brought a hand up to rub bashfully at the back of his neck, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “What does Buir mean?” Obi-Wan asked, looking shyly up at Din’s visor through his lashes.

Din reached out a gloved hand to rub gently at Obi-Wan’s short ginger hair. “It means parent. For I know your name as my child, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan’s light flush grew deeper in intensity. “O-Oh.” Obi-Wan squirmed in embarrassed pleasure, eyes firmly locked on the ground. “B-Buir.”

Din felt a warm curl of pride warm his chest, an involuntary smile tugging at the corners of his lips under his helmet as his throat closed up, emotional tears burning at his eyes. It was the first time he had heard one of his Ad’ike call him Buir. His other Ad, Grogu, hadn’t been able to talk, and Din didn’t have the same freaky mind magic as Ahsoka to be able to speak with him mind to min-

Din paused in his thoughts, eyes widening behind his helmet as a gaping pit opened up in his stomach, cold dread chasing away the warmth left behind by Obi-Wan.  _ I-If I had just taken off my helmet for Grogu… And let him reach out to me like Obi-Wan… Would I have been able to talk to him…? _

Din bit his lip, fighting back devastated tears at the realisation that he could have been talking with Grogu for their entire time together.  _ Now I’m not only a failure as a Mandalorian, I’m a failure as a Buir too…  _ Din’s hands began to shake as he hastily sheathed the Darksaber and stowed it away on his belt, blocking out its concerned hum. The Covert and its rules had allowed taking one’s helmet on the presence of one’s Aliit, but…  _ I was too much of a coward to completely remove my helmet for him, and let him reach out to me… _

Sensing Din’s distress, Obi-Wan stepped closer and cautiously wound his still too skinny arms around Din’s waist, resting his cheek against Din’s beskar chest plate. “I can sense your guilt and pain, Mister- Buir.” Obi-Wan stuttered, mumbling into Din’s beskar’gam. “But whatever it is, I can also sense that it’s not your fault.”

Din snorted through his tears, that’s pot calling the kettle black right there, but unlike Obi-Wan, Din actually had a reason to be angry at himself.  _ I never even gave Grogu a chance to speak… _

__

Hearing Din’s disbelieving snort, Obi-Wan drew back and opened his mouth to argue-

“Mister Din Sir!” Ellian’s shrill voice echoed off of the damp walls, jolting din and Obi-Wan apart. “We found some of the metal friends you told us about!”

_ ‘Metal friends?’  _ Din thought incredulously to himself.  _ What do they mean, ‘metal friends?’ Surely they can’t mean droids-?  _ Din’s thoughts ground to a halt as realisation struck.  _ No way. There’s no way they could have found me this fast…  _ Din felt a low simmer of dread ignite in the pit of his stomach, the mass punishment that Din had witnessed in the Haat’ade’s camp would likely pale in comparison to what they had in store for him after all of the stunts he'd pulled. Scaring the Mand’alor’s Ad by brutally murdering Death Watch operatives mere inches away from him, scaring a group of extremely young Ade, some as young as five years old by murdering Death Watch in front of them. Luring one of their Ade out of their camp in the middle of a war-zone. Making the Mand’alor himself run head first into his ship, then ignore his commands to land… The list went on and on, and Din’s skin tingled painfully in memory of similar punishments carried out by the Covert for minor offences, so Din dreaded to think of what the Hatt’ade had in store for him…

Din took a deep breath and banished his nerves.  _ There’s no way that they would ignore Ade in need. Their help with the Young’s cause could be invaluable. I will endure any punishment that they think up for me, it will be worth it if it helps the Ade…  _ Din thought resolutely to himself, turning on his heel to face the entrance. “Lead the way, Ellian.”

SWSWSWSWSSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSW

Din gulped heavily as he pressed his hand against the sewer grate, apprehension roiling in his stomach.  _ Just get it over with Djarin, rip off the bacta patch…  _ Din took a deep steadying breath before pushing the sewer grate open and clambered through the opening, Ellian hot on his heels.

Harsh sunlight filtered through Din’s visor, making him squint his eyes against the intense glow as he got to his feet. A familiar vocoded gasp had Din snapping his head around to look behind him. Din felt his breath being punched out of him at the sight of three familiar figures silhouetted by the midday sun.

Din felt as if he were suspended in time, all thoughts and feelings halted in the face of his sheer shock and disbelief. For a few long moments, Din stood frozen, simply staring.  _ Impossible… _

__

The fragile silence was broken by a single whispered. “Din’ika?”

All at once, reality crashed down on Din, his knees buckling under its heavy weight and sending Din crashing down to his knees upon the cracked concrete, the piercing ring of beskar impacting stone a harsh cry in the air. A harsh sob clawed its way out of Din’s throat as the spiralling thoughts that he had held at bay since discovering where-when he was crashed down on him all at once, stealing his breath and sending his fingers digging into his skin between the gaps in his beskar’gam.

Din barely registered the alarmed shouts as the ringing in his ears drowned out the world around him as he scrambled to his feet, flinging himself at the closest newcomer. Din barely registered the distinctive ring of beskar meeting beskar over the ringing in his ears as he brought up his arms to clutch at the newcomer’s- Boba’s- back, burying his head into the junction between Boba’s shoulder and neck.

Boba’s strong arms came up around Din’s shoulders to press his trembling form tighter against his chest. “Shhh, easy Din’ika.” Boba murmured softly into the audial on Din’s helmet, smoothing a hand up and down Din’s back in an attempt to soothe the fine trembles wracking Din’s shaking form.

Din curled his fingers into the soft black fabric of Boba’s robes in an attempt to ground himself. “I thought that I was alone…” Din choked out between gasping sobs. “You weren’t waiting for me on Tatooine…”

At the sound of Din’s wrecked voice, heavy clanking footsteps slowly approached, until a larger than life hand landed gently on the back of Din’s neck, shifting aside his kute to grip Din’s bare skin groundingly, the gloved fingers slipping beneath his helmet to weave into Din’s dark curls. “Hey there, Vod’ika. Did you miss me?”

A noise not unlike a wounded animal tore it’s way out of Din’s throat as his head whipped to the side to stare at the other newcomer. Din’s teary eyes blurrily took in the thick blue beskar disbelievingly. “P-Paz?”

Paz nodded, and Din could almost hear the other’s infuriating grin beneath their helmet. “The one and only.”

At Paz’s affirmation, Din pried a hand off of Boba’s back to reach up and grasp Paz’s shoulder, hauling him down into Din’s side.

“W-Woah! Someone’s gotten a lot more touchy feely.” Paz joked, even as he rubbed the hand still clasped on Din’s neck soothingly into his skin.

Din chuckled wetly into Boba’s neck, clenching his fingers tighter into Boba’s robes and Paz’s pauldron. Din felt Boba’s throat vibrate in an annoyed growl at Paz’s words. Boba unwound a hand from Din’s shoulders, and Din heard the tell-tale hiss of a helmet seal. Din glanced up through his visor and had to suppress a laugh through his tears as he saw Boba levelling a silent, withering stare at Paz over Din’s head while mouthing the words ‘shut up’. 

The sight of his two Ori’vode acting so familiar with each other soothed an ache deep in Din’s chst that he didn’t even know he had. Giving one last squeeze to both Boba and Paz, Din slowly pulled away from their three way hug, ignoring his Ori’vode’s grumbles at each other. Din snagged the corner of his cape, bringing it up to his helmet before slipping it beneath the rim and wiping off the wet tear tracks from his face.

Once he was cleaned up, Din let his cape drop and locked eyes with Fennec over Boba’s shoulder. Fennec quirked an eyebrow as if to say-  _ Are the mushy feelings over with?-  _ Before shifting her rifle into one hand and began to weave through the small crowd of Young clamouring around her. Coming to a stop before him, Fennec reached out a hand, the lopsided smirk on her face growing as Din clasped her forearm back in a traditional Mandalorian greeting.

“I’m glad you’re back, Djarin. Boba’s been moping since you missed your first check in. And those two have been arguing over who’s the best ‘big brother’ since we were spat out here.” Fennec rolled her eyes, jerking her head to the side towards Boba and Paz, who were now stood chest to chest, staring intensely into each other’s eyes until Paz broke and looked away first.

Boba turned away from Paz, a victorious smirk on his scarred face as he picked his way back over to Din and Fennec. “Feeling better, Vod’ika?” Boba’s eyes softened as they scanned Din’s helmet, trying to see the man underneath.

Din felt a hot flush of shame crawl across his cheeks at the reminder of his shameful behaviour. Din clenched his fists, bowing his head to Boba and Paz in apology. “I apologise for displaying my emotions so blatantly. I ask for my punishment to be lenient. I need my full range of movement to deal with the Hut’uun Demagolka here.”

Paz strode over, shaking his head at Din’s plea. “East Vod’ika. There’s no armourer or Alor here to arbitrate a punishment.” Paz planted his hands on his hips, shifting his weight to one leg. “Besides, I think that you’ve earned the right to at least one emotional breakdown after Nevarro.” Paz tilted his helmet to stare seriously at Boba and Fennec. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” Paz clenched his fists so hard that the leather of his gloves creaked under the strain, staring down Boba and Fennec as if daring them to say otherwise.

Din snorted unattractively, reaching out to punch Paz playfully on the chest plate, not noticing Boba’s quietly whispered,  _ ‘What the fuck?’  _ and Fennec’s unnerved stare.

“Lay off, Vizsla.” Din span on his heel, ruffling an oddly quiet Ellian’s hair and revelling in the resulting giggles. “Besides, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Uh, yeah.” Paz said awkwardly, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck and shuffling from foot to foot. “I wanted to apologise too, but it can wait until we’re out of the open…”

Din nodded, leading the way to the sewer grate, smiling softly under his helmet, heart feeling oddly full with warm happiness.

_ My Aliit is here, they found me… I’m not alone anymore… _

__

SWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWSWS

The Haat’ade scout collapsed backwards to sprawl out on the roof of the dangerously leaning building, clutching his holo-recorder to his chest and kicking the corpse of a miscellaneous Elder spitefully. He and his small cell of Haat’ade had been scouting the star system for Death Watch remnants. Suffice to say, he had not been expecting a comm call from the Mand’alor himself asking him to search Melida/Daan for the legendary Beroya!

Taking a moment to recover from the crazy roller coaster ride of emotions he had experienced from watching and recording the tearful exchange.  _ I thought that all of us loyal Beroya hunters were doomed for a second! That looked like a tearful lovers’ reunion! But thank the Manda I heard them call Beroya Vod’ika… _ the scout inwardly went over the new information that could be gleaned from the short encounter.  _ So, Beroya has two Ori’vode and- a hot friend? Wait! Holy Kriff! I know the Beroya’s name! Din Djarin!  _ The scout puffed his cheeks out in confusion, struggling to think back on the exchange.  _ Wait, or is it Djarin Din? Or is Din a nickname…? _

__

The scout schook his head violently from side to side to clear his thoughts. The beroya’s first and last name were said separately, so he had no clue of knowing what the Beroya’s full name was… The scout abandoned the thought, stowing it away for later thought and deciding to keep referring to Beroya as Beroya just in case he was completely wrong in guessing the Beroya’s name.

The scout dragged his thoughts back on track. _ Beroya is more emotionally unstable than we thought, so we’ll have to approach him more gently than we thought…  _ The scout burned with the desire to wrap the Beroya up in a big hug, bundle him in warm blankets and feed him home made Uj Cake until he felt better.

__

The scout sighed dreamily as he thought of the newly revealed Ori’Vode.  _ Honestly, both of them could brutally murder me in two and a half seconds flat and I’d thank them for it… _

__

But something niggled at the back of the scout’s mind. Something about the smaller Ori’vod seemed familiar. After a few minutes of trying to put his finger on it and coming up with nothing, the Scout sat up with an annoyed grunt and pulled out his holo-recorder to check. It would annoy him forever otherwise…

It took the scout replaying the holo-vid twice and zooming in on the smaller Ori’vod to finally clock what was so familiar about him. The crest on his chest plate!  _ That sneaky bastard! He’s one of us! A member of the Mand’alor’s clan no less! He should know that we have a list of who’s allowed to approach Beroya first! Who is this guy anyway? I don’t think I’ve seen him before… But his voice sounds so familiar… And his face… _

__

The scout shook his head to clear his thoughts, fiddling with his holo-recorder, the scout keyed in a message to the Mand’alor and attached the holo-vid to the message as visual proof to his report.

_ It won’t be long until the Mand’alor gets here, then we can all get the chance to formally approach Beroya and his hot Ori’vode… _

_ _

A/N- Sorry for the late update! Please accept this picture of Jango headbutting a Jedi as compensation!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please , please comment! I might not be able to answer them all, but I read every single one and they motivate me so much!
> 
> Ori'vod- Big sibling  
> Ori'vode- Big siblings  
> Ad- Child  
> Ade- Children  
> Ad'ike- Children  
> Hut'uun- extreme insult, coward  
> Demagolka- Monster, someone who would hurt a child  
> Uj Cake- A dense, really sweet, mandalorian cake made from fruit and nuts


	23. The Only Way?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruh, I apologise for this absolute monster of a chapter it got so long lmaooo

“So Din’ika. Care to tell me what kind of mess you’ve gotten yourself into now?” Boba’s voice echoed off of the cavernous walls of the damp sewers. “And why we’re currently trekking through a kriffing sewer?”

“Hey, sewers are a great place for a base of operations. Easily defensible, and if you work the twists and turns to your advantage, you can force your opponents to use their less favoured hand, right Vod’ika?” Paz snarked right back, shoulders creeping towards his ears defensively.

Boba snorted and exchanged an indulgent look with Fennec, though Din would never know how Boba managed to convey his emotions so efficiently with the helmet obscuring his face. Paz, catching the exchange, made a deeply offended noise in the back of his throat, speeding up his gait until he drew level with Din, pointedly not looking back at the now snickering pair behind them.

Din wordlessly nodded his head at Paz’s indignant statement, too focused on leading the way to intervene in Paz and Boba’s third petty argument since the group had descended into the sewers. “It will be easier to explain once to the hideout.” Din said placatingly.

“All right, Vod’ika.” Paz nodded slowly, turning his head to lock eyes with Din through their visors. “I trust you.”

Din felt a hot flush of pleasure heat the back of his neck and cheeks at his Vod’s blatant display of trust, allowing Din to lead them blindly through the never ending tunnels.

The rest of the journey passed in silence, the sound of the group’s footsteps deafening in the ringing silence, slightly stilted due to the numerous Ade hanging off every adult in the group.

After about fifteen minutes of silent walking, bar the Ade’s excited murmurs, the group finally emerged into the Young’s base. Immediately, Din felt Paz, Boba and Fennec stop in their tracks at the sight that met them. Even with Din’s best efforts to feed and heal the young, a few days of care would not immediately heal years of abuse and starvation. Though the Young were in much better spirits, bruises fading with a healthy flush to their cheeks as they chattered excitedly to each other at the appearance of new-comers, they were still gaunt, wraith-like even, as evidence of long-term malnutrition stole the flesh from their bones, making them appear skeletal. Despite Din’s Obi-Wan’s and Cerasi’s best efforts, the air still pressed down heavily with the sickly-sweet stench of festering wounds.

Looking back, Din felt a shiver of sympathy trickle down his spine at the horrified rage emanating from the trio’s frozen forms.  _ No matter how many times I see it, I still feel the same as I did when I first saw them…  _ Din thought, as an answering swell of rage burned in his chest. As the only one not wearing a helmet, Din could see Fennec’s usual blank, amused façade crack, revulsion and sheer  _ anger  _ pulling at the corner of her lips as her eyes darted around the large room.

__

_ Wait, that’s not just sympathy…  _ Din’s eyes widened as the intense emotions quickly rose beyond his control. Now that he paid closer attention to it, Din could feel the painful, prickling anger rise from both Paz and Boba, even through the muffling layers of their armour, creating a feed-back loop of negative emotion that overwhelmed his senses and sent Din’s heart racing in his chest, and his eyes darting around the room for the closest exit as the trio’s displeasure rose by the second. Din felt his breathing begin to pick up and the room begin to spin, unnoticed by his Aliit as they stared intently at the horrors around them.

The Darksaber hidden under his cloak began to hum insistently against his hip, faint whispers brushing against Din’s racing mind.  _ UdesiiUdesiiAlor’ikaUdesii.  _ The Darksaber’s twin must have alerted his Ad to Din’s situation, because Din felt the previously silent bond connecting him and Obi-Wan suddenly brighten, a wave of cool, soothing calm washing over Din and soothing the frayed edges of his panicked mind.

_ Mis- Buir. You need to calm down or you will hurt yourself. _

Din gritted his teeth as he tried to forcibly quell the roiling mess of foreign emotion. His efforts only seemed to open the floodgates, sending Din rocking back on his feet as he was hit with a veritable wall of intensified rage. Din’s own thoughts began to slip away as the mental onslaught sent a sharp pain lancing into head from behind one of his eyes.

_ Ok. It’s Ok. I’m going to extend my shields to cover you, Buir. Hold on. _

__

Through the rapidly intensifying pain, Din noted the undertone of distress in his Ad’s usually tightly controlled voice and he instinctively turned to scan the room for the familiar shock of red hair, wanting to soothe his Ad’ika’s worries.

Din’s frantic search of the room was halted by a relieving cooling sensation soothing the frayed edges of his mind, silencing the deafening rage dissolving the thin layers of Din’s meagre shields. Din’s muscles involuntarily relaxed at the absence of the persistent burning pain, relishing in the blessed silence within his own mind.

A sudden hand landing on Din’s shoulder made him jump, his nerves frayed by the near miss. Snapping his head around to look behind him, Din was met with the sight of a concerned Boba, the older man’s helmet tilted to the side in worry. “Hey, you alright, Din’ika?”

Din’s cheeks burned with shame. Boba had seen his loss of control. Din was glad for Obi-Wan’s shields, because Din could handle his Ori’vod’s anger, but he sure as kriff knew that he couldn’t handle his disappointment.

Din shrugged Boba’s hand off of his shoulder, advancing into the room, inwardly missing the steady warmth of Boba’s large hands as he ran his gloved hands through the knotted hair of any Young who reached out to him in greeting as he passed, not noticing the concerned look that Boba traded with Paz and Fennec behind his back.

The Darksaber at Din’s hip hummed so hard that Din’s thigh went numb with the force of its vibrations, though with his Ad’s shields still ensconcing his mind, his head still remained blessedly silent. Not in the mood for deciphering the wild ramblings of a somehow sentient glow-stick, Din wilfully ignored the steadily intensifying vibrations of the Darksaber, instead attempting to puzzle out what had happened a few seconds ago as the lingering ache in his mind was soothed away by his Ad’s gentle mental touches.

_ What in the kriff was that?  _ Din thought dazedly to himself, bringing a hand up to press at his beskar helmet, not noticing the concerned exhales from the group behind him over the lingering ringing in his ears.  _ I thought that my beskar’gam was supposed to muffle the- What did Ahsoka and Obi-Wan call it again? The Jedi magic thing?  _ Din scrunched his nose up behind his helmet in thought.  _ Ah-! The Force!  _ Din thought in triumph before another wave of cloying anxiety began to gnaw at his stomach.  _ I’ve never been able to feel other people through my beskar before, does this mean that it’s getting worse…?  _ Din’s thoughts trailed off into wordless worry as he picked his way through the thick crowds of the Young toward Cerasi and Nield at the strategy table. (Though it was more of a strategy crate)

The Darksaber at Din’s hip seemed to have had enough of Din’s ignorance, as the humming suddenly ramped up from a 40 to a 100. The Darksaber physically lifted up from its position resting against Din’s thigh and began yanking him backwards towards Boba and the others so hard that his feet nearly left the floor.

The distinctive ring of beskar meeting beskar pierced the air as Din bounced off of Boba’s chestplate. The Darksaber strained up to tap affectionately against Boba’s armour through Din’s cape before falling silent once again. Even through Obi-Wan’s durasteel shields, Din could still somehow sense the damned thing’s smug satisfaction. Din’s cheeks burned as he levered himself back upright, attempting to continue his trek towards Nield and Cerasi, who were now eying Boba and the others with thinly veiled suspicion, eyes locked on where Din’s back met Boba’s chest. But before Din could gain his balance, Boba’s gloved hands grabbed Din’s shoulders and yanked him back against Boba’s chest as he began to pat Din down, searching for injuries.

“For kriff’s sake, Din’ika. Did you cauterise another wound again, you di’kut? I’ve told you that it’s not wasting bacta if you’re actually injured. I swear if I find anything, I’ll…” Boba’s menacing growl trailed off as his hand met the still slightly humming darksaber at Din’s hip. The previously silent Darksaber once again strained up off of Din’s thigh, this time to rub against Boba’s hand like an affectionate Tooka. Din’s brows raised in surprise, the Darksaber had never reacted like that to anyone aside from Mereel… Curious, Din strained against the barriers of Obi-Wan’s shields to hear what the Darksaber was humming.

_ AliitBe’Mand’alor _

__

“Ok Din’ika.” Boba’s rough voice startled Din out of his concentration, causing him to jolt slightly in Boba’s grip, prompting the older man to steady him in his arms. Unseen behind his helmet, Boba frowned at the minute trembles wracking Din’s lithe form under his beskar’gam. “I think that you had better explain. Now.” Paz and Fennec nodded solemnly from their place behind Boba, their eyes locked on Din’s hunched form.

With an embarrassed cough, Din straightened, gently dislodging Boba’s steadying hands from his shoulders and stepped back, jerking his head to indicate that the others follow along.

The group made short work of trekking through the grab happy crowd of Young, coming to a stop before Nield and Cerasi at the strategy table (Crate).

“Mister Din, are these friends of yours?” Nield asked suspiciously, eyes narrowing as he stared down the three adults, subtly placing himself between Din and the others with Cerasi following his lead.

Din could practically hear Boba’s eyebrow raise as the two malnourished teenagers attempted to stare him down. Fennec’s lips pressed tightly together as she struggled to contain an amused chuckle, shoulders shaking with mirth. With Paz’s position looming over Boba and Fennec’s shoulders, Din had a front row seat to Paz melting in the face of the two Ade’s Mandokarla as they attempted to defend Din from Boba, unneeded as it may be.

“Cerasi, Nield.” Both of the Ade tilted their heads slightly at Din’s voice, not taking their eyes off of Boba’s visor as they stared him down. “You two can stand down, they’re friends. That’s Boba, Fennec, and Paz.” The trio nodded silently as their names were called out. “I trust them to help with the Young’s cause here on Melida/Daan.”

Din watched as Nield and Cerasi’s eyes raked over Boba and the others, taking note of their meticulously upheld blasters and vibro-blades, grudgingly nodding in agreement. “Well, if they are anywhere near as good as you, their help would be welcome.”

Din nodded in satisfaction. “And what exactly did you just volunteer our services for?” Fennec asked, a single eyebrow raised as she cocked her head to the side, a smug smirk on her face as she gazed around the Young’s base. “Though I already have an idea about where this is going. You always were a softie for kids, Djarin.” Fennec snorted, shaking her head as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Din nodded in reply. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.” Paz echoed, his deep voice startling both Cerasi and Nield, prompting them to stare up at the large Mandalorian with wide eyes.

Din shook his head in amusement. Ad’ike had always been in awe of Paz’s sheer strength and size, making him a favourite amongst both the Foundlings and the Younglings born into the Covert. Paz’s large size and heavy armour hid a man with a soft, squishy core when it came to Ade. the man was unbelievably fond of children, not unlike Din himself, and would often let them climb all over his large frame like a Jungle Gym, much like he had with the Young outside. Even now, there were multiple Young clutching at Paz’s legs, gazing up at Paz with glistening awe-struck eyes.

Din shook his head to clear his thoughts and focus on the task at hand. “Melida/Daan is currently locked in a civil war that has been raging on for decades.” As Din began his explanation, Fennec, Boba and Paz all noticeably straightened, focussing all of their attention on Din’s report of the situation.

“The factions are the Melida, the Daan, and the Young.” Din gestured back to the room behind him, not noticing that several of the Young waved back, excited grins on their faces. “This is the Young.” Din gritted his teeth, a familiar rage rising in his chest at the thought of the Young’s plight. “The Young are the children of both the Melida and the Daan who have banded together to stop their parents and families from fighting.

Din watched as Boba, Paz and Fennec all jolted backwards, as if physically struck by Din’s words, turning back to scan over the Young and their injuries with new eyes.

“Does… That mean…?” Paz asked, uncharacteristically uncertain.

Din nodded grimly. “Their parents and families are the ones that did this. They actively hunt and kill their own Ade.” Din lowered his voice so that the surrounding Ade couldn’t hear.

It was as if a switch had been flipped in the two other Mandalorians. Both Boba and Paz tensed, an almost feral growl escaping their throats as their hands inched reflexively towards their blasters. Fennec’s eyes glinted in murderous rage even as she reached out to calm Boba and Paz.

Confident that he had caught the trio’s attention, Din turned to look over the strategy table (Crate), reaching out to pluck up the relevant pilfered data-pads up from the table (Crate) surface. While his back was turned, Din didn’t notice both Cerasi and Nield hold up a hand, point to their own eyes, then vehemently point back at Boba and Paz before rushing to Din’s side to help him organise the data-pads.

After a few minutes of shuffling, Din, Cerasi and Nield turned back to the trio with an armful of Data-pads. “Here, this is what me and the Young have managed to do in the few days I’ve been here.” Din handed over a few of the Data-pads to Boba, who then distributed them to the others. “We’ve used what little fighters we have that are fit for action to stage small guerrilla ambushes along their main supply lines here, here, and here.” Din leaned over to turn on the holo-map and point at various points across the ruined city-scape.

“Both the Melida and the Daan are now too paranoid to leave their main bases of operation, so all that’s left is to hit their strongholds. If we manage a successful assault, that should get both of them to surrender.” Din waited for the trio to finish reading over their data-pads before continuing. “We’ve prevented them from receiving any fresh supplies for almost a week, so they should be tired and hungry.” Din grinned viciously from beneath his helmet. “An easy target. None of them have any formal training, and what little they do knows looks like they lifted it straight out of a blaster handling manual.”

Fennec mirrored Din’s feral grin, hefting her sniper blaster rifle from where it lay across her back. “We’ve managed more against worse odds.”

Din nodded back. “We were planning to attack the Melida first, just before dawn. They are currently the strongest troops wise, so thr Daan might surrender if the melida are defeated first.” Din turned and deposited the Data-pads back on the table (Crate). “But you need to rest first. Travelling like that really takes a lot out of you.” Din remarked, scanning over the almost invisible exhausted slope of the trio’s shoulders.

“Speaking of,” Paz tilted his helmet, visor boring into Din’s eyes. “Care to explain how you managed to travel half-way across the galaxy in just over a week without a ship?”

Din shifted awkwardly, bringing up a gloved hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Uh- Yeah. Let’s go somewhere a little more private for that…” Din turned on his heel and beckoned with one hand for the trio to follow him as he trekked over to the sickbay, leaving Cerasi and Nield to look over the data-pads in peace.

Once they were all safely behind the tattered cloth and Din had made sure that the group had no little eavesdroppers behind the curtain, Din trudged wearily to an empty cot and let his knees buckle, plopping onto the uncomfortable lumpy makeshift cot with an  _ oomph. _

“So… Uh…” Din struggled to find a good point to begin, Paz, Boba’s and Fennec’s insistent stares making him uncomfortable, even through the thick barrier of his beskar’gam. Din began to fidget as the words continued to evade him, and after a full minute of uncomfortable silence, Boba let out a heavy sigh and walked over to seat himself at Din’s side, leaning into him in a silent gesture of support.

Boba’s solid side pressed against his sent a wave of pleasant tingles blooming from the point of contact, even through his beskar’gam. After a few days of non-stop hugging and body slamming from the Young, foreign touch had ceased being painfully uncomfortable, and had settled into a deeply comforting experience. Din began to lean subconsciously into Boba’s side, prompting the older man to wrap an arm around Din’s shoulders and drag him in closer to press completely up against him in a full body hug. With the area of contact increased, Din’s muscles involuntarily tensed, trembled, then completely relaxed, rendering Din completely limp against Boba’s side, sprawling across the cot and borderline purring at the gentle warmth emanating from Boba’s solid body. The hug felt so much more intense and real than the weak warmth felt from the Young’s malnourished, sickly hugs.

After a few moments of Din silently cherishing the contact, Boba cleared his throat, jostling his shoulder a little and sending Din’s head wobbling back and forth as his muscles as his body was still completely limp against Boba’s side. “Come on Din’ika.” The display had both Paz and Fennec stifling amused chuckles, the mirth on the normally stoic assassin lit up her entire face as she let out an amused, yet exasperated sigh at the sight of Din’s plight.

Boba pulled off his helmet with his free hand, baring his scarred face to glare intently at the two, eyes zeroing in on Paz’s shaking shoulders. “Get over here and help me.” Boba growled, absentmindedly rubbing between Din’s shoulders and reducing the limp Mandalorian’s bones to jelly.

Paz’s mirthful chuckles halted at the sudden attention, shoulders creeping up around his ears in discomfort at the stares directed at him. “U-Uh…”

Din’s eyes locked on Paz as Boba pulled his helmet off, the pleasant fog brought on by the extended hug clearing in an instant. Dreading his fellow Mandalorian’s reaction to Boba’s bare face, Din mentally prepared himself to jump in between Paz and Boba should a brawl break out. Din himself had no problem with Boba removing his helmet, his Ori’vod was the perfect picture of a true Mandalorian, with or without his helmet. He was brave, fierce in combat, intensely protective of his Aliit, and good with Ade from what Din had seen from his time at the court, no matter how much Boba denied it. Din felt the familiar miasma of shame claw its way into his heart, heat crawling up the back of his neck and cheeks.  _ But I’m the complete opposite… _

Din’s eyes snapped up to lock on the taller Mandalorian as Paz let out a choked sounding wheeze at the sight of Boba’s face. Din tensed, preparing to throw himself between them until Paz’s stance registered in Din’s brain, stopping him short.  _ Wait a second…  _ Din’s eyes raked over Paz, noting his fidgeting fingers, the tilt of his head and his raised shoulders as the large Mandalorian’s visor locked on Boba’s face.  _ That’s not anger… He’s… Embarrassed? Why is he embarrassed?  _ Din thought, dumbfounded.  _ Shouldn’t he be angry?  _ Din thought, subconsciously scanning the sickbay for eyes watching from the shadows, muscles tensing in preparation for pain, even though he knew that who he was looking for had likely died with the rest of the Covert.

Boba rolled his eyes, breaking the trance, placing his helmet carefully down on the cot beside him, grabbing Paz by the wrist and dragging him down onto the cot at Din’s opposite side, pressed against Din’s legs. Din could feel Paz tense, then relax, even through both of their layers of beskar’gam. Din felt Boba’s chest vibrate with a frustrated growl as he mumbled quietly under his breath. “What the kriff? Both of them? That cant be a coincidence…” murmured so quietly that Din’s audial barely picked it up. Boba locked eyes with Fennec over Din’s head, the mirth and gentle amusement melting away from Fennec’s fine features without a trace, leaving only a carefully blank expression, the only giveaway being the slight glint of anger in her eyes.

After a few seconds of intense staring with Fennec, she and Boba eventually broke eye contact with resolute nods.  _ What the kriff? I thought that they didn’t have that freaky ‘magic’ osik.  _ Din thought, raising his eyebrow at the two’s nonverbal communication.

“Right, Din’ika. Explain.” Boba’s curt voice jolted Din out of his thoughts, making him jump in surprise.

“R-Right.” Din stuttered, contorting himself from his position sandwiched between two large, fully armoured Mandalorians to dig through his belt, retrieving the stone object that had kick started Din’s bizarre adventure. “It was this thing.”

“Looks like Jetti osik to me.” Boba deadpanned, leaning down for a better look at the carvings on the object’s surface.

“Seconded.” Fennec added from her position leant against the damp wall.

“Jetti? Really?” Paz asked incredulously, tilting his helmet to look fully at the object.

Din shrugged, slipping the object back into his belt. “The bounty pressed it into my hand to try and bribe me before I shoved him into the carbonite freezer.”

Fennec snorted in amusement, shaking her head. “Like you can be bribed with anything but sweets or children, Djarin.”

Din’s cheeks burned at the assassin’s gentle teasing as he refused to answer to her well-meaning jab, even if it was true.

“Still got that sweet-tooth, Vod’ika?” Paz asked teasingly, his low chuckles making the cot rock against the stone floors.

“Anyway,” Din said loudly, ignoring the others’ low snickers at his expense, cheeks burning with a passion. “This thing glowed and dropped me off on a planet called Concord Dawn.”

Boba froze against Din’s side, all traces of soft relaxation gone. “Concord Dawn? How are you still alive, Din’ika? The Empire turned that place to glass during the purge.”

Paz grunted, fists clenching against his thighs so hard that the leather of his gloves began to creak at the strain at the mention of the Empire before he audibly took a deep breath and forcibly relaxed his muscles.

“Uh, yeah, about that…” Din subconsciously leaned further into Boba’s side. “I’ll explain that part later. So I ran into some Hut’uun demagolka scum.” Din spat, tensing at the reminder of Death Watch standing over the prone form of Arla’s Vod’ika. “They would gang up on an Ad four to one. So I killed them.” Din’s shoulders crept towards his ears as shame rekindled in his chest. “Right in front of the Ad. Then the Ad’s Buir arrived, their Mand’alor himself, so I figured that they were in good hands, so I ran.”

Silence rang out in the room as Din’s Aliit absorbed Din’s story.

“I must have really scared the Ad, because they kept chasing me. They were really persistent, sending out hunting parties regularly to track me.”

Paz shrugged against Din’s side. “They should have been easy enough to evade, right? After all, Mandalorian Beroya training is better than any other.” Paz said flippantly.

Din winced, drawing the room’s attention. “Uh, about that… They were Mandalorian.”

Both Paz and Boba’s heads snapped to the side to stare at Din. “What? Mandalorians on Concord Dawn? The last that happened was…” Boba exclaimed, eyes glazing over as he became lost in thought.

“Vod’ika, how large was this group, and how did we not hear of them before now?” Paz asked intently, locking eyes with Din through their visors.

“An entire faction.” Din mumbled, heart sinking as he felt Boba flinch against his side. “But I’ll explain more later. I couldn’t let demagolka masquerading as Mandalorians walk free, so I began my hunt.” Din growled viciously, baring his teeth behind his helmet, feeling Paz do the same.

“The Demagolkas were also Mandalorian?” Paz asked incredulously, moving a hand to grip tightly at Din’s ankle. “Impossible. No true Mandalorian would hurt an Ad.”

Boba remained locked in his own memories, not responding to the conversation around him as Fennec listened silently, her face carefully blank.

“It’s true. They wore our armour in blue and black and called their leader Mand’alor.” Din snarled at the memory of Vizsla.  _ Wait…  _ Din’s eyes widened behind his helmet as a sudden thought hit him.  _ Vizsla.  _ Din discreetly turned his head to look at the fuming Paz.  _ There’s no way that they could be related… Paz would  _ **_never_ ** _ hurt an Ad…  _ Din resolved to himself not to mention Vizsla’s name until Paz had fully come to terms with where-when they were. That would be enough shocks for one day…

“So I killed as many as I could find, and ended up freeing another group of Ade.” Din lowered his head. “I also killed two Demagolka right in front of a five year old with a serrated knife…” Din admitted, curling into himself in shame.

“Kriff…” Paz said breathily. “they didn’t catch you, did they?” Paz twisted in his seat, jostling the still unresponsive Boba as he gripped Din’s shoulders. “They didn’t catch you, right Vod’ika?” Paz asked frantically, running his hands down Din’s torso and limbs, searching for the tell-tale signs of traditional punishment- broken bones and electro-whip marks, before letting out a sigh of relief as he found none.

Din shook his head in answer. “Then I infiltrated the Demagolkas’ base of operations, an old beskar mine, to try and gather information to exchange for forgiveness.” Din felt Paz nod in agreement against Din’s side at his reasoning. “But I came across a prisoner of war. I couldn’t just leave her there, so I returned her to her people. I gave her what little information I could gather, but it obviously wasn’t enough.” Din’s shoulders dropped, throat aching as his voice became painfully raspy with overuse. “They wouldn’t stop chasing me…” Din whispered.

Din wordlessly shook his head. “I-It gets worse… I lured an Ad outside of their camp in a war-zone.” Din murmured, ashamed as he gripped the pocket on his belt that housed the carefully folded notes from the Ade that he read every night to calm himself down before sleeping. “And I saw them enacting a mass punishment, at least half the entire camp were beaten into the dirt. And- And they were  _ cheering  _ for it.”

Paz let out a choked sounding noise as he rocked backwards at Din’s confession. “Kark.” Paz leaned forward again, staring directly into Din’s eyes. “I won’t let them hurt you, Vod’ika. They’d have to go through me first.”

Din’s head snapped around from it’s slump to stare incredulously at Paz. “W-What? You would defend me? After what happened in the armoury? With the Beskar?” Din asked, voice hollow as he thought back at his Vod’s overwhelming anger, and the sharp pain of his fists as he raised a hand against him for the first time outside of a spar.

Paz’s shoulders slumped, his larger-than-life form folding inwards, making him seem impossibly small. “I never got the chance to apologise for that, Vod’ika.”

Din opened his mouth to protest. “No, don’t apologise. It was my fault for doing something you didn’t like. You had every right to-“

“No! I didn’t!” Paz borderline yelled, keeping his voice down so as to not alert the Young on the other side of the tattered cloth. Paz reached out and grasped Din’s shoulders firmly, turning him to face him fully. “No, I didn’t. It wasn’t your fault, Vod’ika, it was mine. It-It’s just the Empire. It makes me so-“ Paz took a deep, steadying breath. “So  _ angry.  _ I just see my entire clan being slaughtered playing on loop behind my eyes over and over again. I- I couldn’t control myself, Vod’ika. And that’s my fault not yours.”

Paz leaned forward to gently rest the forehead of his helmet against Din’s. Din’s breath hitched at the uncharacteristic display of affection, eyes instinctively darting around the almost empty sickbay for the ever watching glint of a visor in the shadows.

“I only grabbed your helmet because I knew that you didn’t have the same full education as the other Foundlings and Younglings and you didn’t know about the widely accepted version of the Resol’nare.” Paz grasped Din’s hands tightly between his, keeping his forehead pressed against Din’s. “I  _ swear on my honour  _ that I genuinely forgot about the Alor’s presence in the Armourer’s forge.”

“Wha-What do you mean, ‘Full Education?’” Din stuttered. “Widely accepted version? Isn’t there only one Way?” Din asked, pulling back to stare at Paz, dumbfounded.

Paz shook his head. “That’s what the Alor believes.” Paz hung his head in shame.” I knew that between your Buir dying early and your duties as the Covert’s Beroya, you didn’t have time to attend the Armourer’s underground lessons away from the Alor and his re-education team’s eyes-“

“Re-education?” Boba’s sharp voice cut through the tension in the air like a hot knife through butter. Boba seemed to have recovered from whatever trance Din’s story had instilled in him, and now stared intensely at both Din and Paz. “Punishment?” He continued, voice ice cold.

Din struggled to find the words to speak through the roiling emotions swirling in his chest from having his world view turned on its head.

Paz saved Din from answering by tilting his head in confusion. “Yes? Doesn’t every child and adult get punished by the individuals in power?” Paz asked innocently.

Fennec pushed off of the wall and began stalking to the trio on the cot, strides smooth like a predator stalking their prey. “No. They don’t. That’s something called abuse.” Fennec said, eyes narrowed, tone ice cold.

Din shook his head in answer. Finally, something he could answer in confidence. “No it’s not. It’s not abuse if I deserve it.”

Boba let out a pained grunt, reaching up to hook his arm around Din’s neck and drag him back against his side. All of Din’s breath whooshed out of him in surprise as he felt the fine trembles in Boba’s usually steadfast arms.

Boba locked eyes with Paz over the top of Din’s head. “What about you? Do you think the same way?”

Paz tilted his head in confusion once again. “Yes? Isn’t that normal?”

Boba shook his head violently from side to side. “No. If an Ad’ika accidentally walked into one of their Alor’s meetings without meaning to, should they be punished for it in the way that you two described?”

Din let out an animalistic whine of pain at the thought of a child under the Covert’s Alor’s fists. “Of course not.”

Paz echoed Din’s statement. “No one deserves that. That’s why we tried to take the Ade’s punishments instead.”

Boba tilted his helmet, regarding Din and Paz. “Then if  _ you _ accidentally walked into your Alor’s meeting, should you be punished for it?”

Both Din and Paz nodded their heads in unison. “Yes? I would deserve it.” Din said. Wasn’t it obvious?

Boba shifted his head to stare at Din alone. “Then why would you deserve it any more than an Ade?”

Din’s throat closed up at Boba’s question as he struggled to force the words out. “Bu- Wha-? That’s different.”

Boba, sensing Din and Paz’s rising distress, locked eyes with Fennec in another bout of non-verbal communication. After a few seconds of staring, both Boba and Fennec nodded and stood down, dropping their line of questioning to both Din and Paz’s relief. “We’ll finish this conversation later, Din’ika, Paz. Don’t think this is over yet.”

Boba drew back from Din to look directly into his visor, holding him at arm’s length by his shoulders. “I just need you to answer one thing for me, Din’ika, were the Demagolka in black and blue called Death Watch and,”

Boba’s fingers clenched into Din’s shoulders.

“Was these Mandalorian’s Mand’alor a man named Jaster Mereel?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please leave a comment! I might not be able to answer them all, but I read every single one and they motivate me so much to write more!!!
> 
> Osik- Dung, shit, rude  
> Demagolka- Monster, someone who would hurt a child  
> Ad- Child  
> Ad'ika- Child (affectionate)  
> Din'ika- Din (Affectionate)  
> Vod- Sibling  
> Vod'ika- Little sibling  
> Ori'Vod- Big sibling  
> Hut'uun- Extreme insult, coward  
> Aliit- Clan  
> Aliit Be'Mand'alor- Clan of the Mand'alor  
> Udesii- Calm down  
> Alor'ika- Little leader  
> Alor- Leader

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment, comments give me life lmaoooo. If you spot any mistakes or have any suggestions, please tell me lmaoo I'm a crap proof reader
> 
> Buir- Parent, Mother, Father  
> Beskar'Gam- Beskar Armour  
> Shabuir- Insult, Stronger than jerk  
> Kute- Undersuit  
> Adiika- Child  
> Demogolka- Extreme Insult/Child Abuser  
> Dar'Manda- No longer Mandalorian  
> Hut'Uun- Extreme Insult, Coward  
> Jas'Buir- Mixture of Jaster and Buir  
> Jan'ika- Mixture of Jango and 'Ika- Ika is an affectionate form of address  
> Mando'Ad- Child of Mandalor/Mandalorian  
> Ad- Child  
> Haat Mando'Ade- True Mandalorians, Jaster's faction  
> Manda'lor- One True Leader  
> Mandokarla- 'Having the right stuff' What makes a good Mandalorian

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